


You're More Than A Destroyer

by Novirp13



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, NOT BETA. So beware of grammar mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29655060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novirp13/pseuds/Novirp13
Summary: He doesn't know where and how he's here, but one thing Pico is good at is--tosurvive.(And survive he will)..Or, an explanation of why Pico is in Friday Night Funkin's universe. AU
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65





	You're More Than A Destroyer

**Author's Note:**

> Me, saying that I can't write a long fanfic in English for a while because it's not my mother language and it's kinda tiring me out
> 
> Also me, creating a 24k words fanfic.
> 
> Granted, it took me 10 days to write this. Or 12 :'D

_Those moves and those eyes…_

_Hey, kiddo. At what age did you start to wield a weapon?_

_How many people have you_ **_killed?_ **

* * *

**I**

When Pico awoke from a slumber he didn't remember took in the first place, he knew he wasn't at any place he was familiar of.

A cool breeze flew past by (chilly. It must be night), the air smell bad (a dumpster), the ground was cold (he's laying on a walkway), and there were noises yet it wasn't near his vicinity, maybe 5 meters away or so (an alleyway then). Pico kept on pretending to be unconscious, not wanting to warn his kidnapper that he was still alive.

But, let's be real here. Whoever took him away from his safe haven of an abandoned factory was stupid. First of all, they didn't check whether he still has his heartbeat or not. Second, they didn't tie him up. Third, and this one is the most important aspect of all, he still has his gun. Pico's fingers twitched slightly, tensed shoulders relaxing a little bit when he could feel the trigger of his beloved UZI. Now that he knew he wasn't in immediate danger, Pico finally opened his eyes. Green, blank orbs roamed about the place, confirming his earlier deduction that this is not a place he usually hangs around. In fact, this _may_ not be the Earth he came to hate yet still loved at the same time.

How did he arrive at that conclusion? As that said conclusion almost seemed like it came out of nowhere. That’s easy. When he peeked over the brick wall of whatever place he was in right now, he saw them.

_Creatures._

Devils, skeletons, living pumpkin, bipedal animals, a block with several teeth on it, and even a literal stickman wearing pants or dress.

They were mingling around the humans. Speaking. Laughing. Even dancing.

Since the day after Cassandra's 'little' school sabotage and that alien transformation of hers at the end of it, everything has changed. He could even say that World War III has descended upon them. With Cassandra's terrorism as a trigger, those 'aliens' that want ‘revolution’ came out of their hiding. They wreak havoc. They killed innocent people. They tarnish every place they could get their hand to and when the human's side did their counter-attack, they didn't even think twice to kill their own kind. Fearing for a hidden creature within. Causing the war of atrocities to come back full circle. It just won't _end_. And Pico—

_Pico had to mature earlier than usual._

_They_ had to mature. Nene and Darnell—

_Just to survive._

(A year. It was _just_ a year but it felt like forever)

Anyway, Pico digressed. Whatever happened to him before his impromptu nap, he needs to squash his urge not to aim his weapon at those innocent creatures. His annoyance towards…well… _everything_ doesn't justify his mindless killing. They didn't do anything to him or to the denizen of this world. In fact, they found a way to coexist. To help and support. Just because he came from a place where the Creatures are the antagonist of their story (just because he was jealous this world is so _fucking_ peaceful—), just because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, doesn't mean he _had_ to be the trigger.

So, with UZI tucked inside the gun holster strapped behind his bum, he walked away.

It's time to gather information.

* * *

Wearing a long, brown coat that he stole from the near store (it was to conceal the existence of his weapon), some money and identity card from an unfortunate bloke he 'accidentally' bumped into (he used the ITIN card because this is the only identification card where the real owner's photo wasn't put on display), he managed to successfully sneak inside the local library without suspicion; something he didn't think could've happened. Because he’s seven. And, surely, a seven years old kid should’ve not be allowed to create a local library card without their parent's supervision, right? Let alone have an ITIN card. Maybe because they have a ton of different-looking Creatures with a variety of heights here. The librarian must've thought he's one of them.

Or an adult with Dwarfism. Whichever works.

Well, back on the topic. From the history books he had read, there wasn't that much of a difference between his world and this world. There _was_ an uprising of Humans versus Creatures a couple of years back but it was resolved pretty amicably when they proved themselves not to be a threat (something Cassandra had failed to do) and promised to use their magic for the good deed. This world is a whole lot more advanced than its own; new phone, new television, new transportation. Granted, Pico's original world was shrouded in dread and misery and the only thing they cared for is the advancement of a new weapon. Preferably one that could kill a creature within one shot, yet sparing humankind from the after effect. Pico didn't trust those things, though. He prefers to use a good, old machine gun. Or UZI. Yeah, UZI is good. He always carried two of them, in fact, for a quick draw and maximum input.

They were the only ones who accompanied him through the school sabotage, after all. And the constant wave of Uberkids' massacre as well.

(He should’ve convinced his companion—his _only_ friends—to equip these weapons. Darnell was okay, as he has his Molotov for the AoE attack. But Nene. So stubborn with her knife throwing. If only she learn how to use them, learn how to keep them as a spare—)

_**(If only he was a little bit faster—)** _

Pico closed the book.

Well, he learned enough. For now, he had to find a settlement to live in. An empty place, preferably, because he wasn't that much of a jerk to keep on stealing other people's things so he can feed his own stomach. In a world full of war, sure. However, this is not that reality. And he had to be a 'normal kid' among others to lay low before he finds a way to come back to his own universe.

 _(But you don't want to go back._ At the back of his mind, a place where he tends to shove the thoughts he didn't want to confront, a whisper echoed. It sneered and cackled. Mocking yet sad at the same time. _Not when you can finally taste the peace you've longed to grasp.)_

_**(Not when you have no one to welcome you with an open hand)** _

* * *

**II**

It took a week, two days, and a half for someone to find out about Pico's nonexistent identity.

Pretty slow of them, honestly. In his previous place, he couldn't even stay for half a day, or even good minutes to bandaged the littered wounds sometimes before a Creature found his hideout. The abandoned warehouse he used to hide was the only place where he could sleep for more than eight hours.

(Huh. Maybe that was also the reason why he was unceremoniously dumped in this different world, with no information to glean whatsoever. Should've known that that was too good to be true)

It was almost night, and he had a last order of burgers to deliver before he could end today's part-time job. The usual employee was calling in sick. And his boss had promised to give him an overdue payment as an exchange. Pico accepted it readily. Money was a bit tight these days and a couple of bucks is definitely appreciated even if this order _—send it to the pier that located almost at the edge of the town_ —was a bit shady.

…okay, so maybe he should've been a lot more careful.

He blamed it on this peaceful town; it dulled his logical thinking.

When he arrived at the supposed address, the hair on his nape suddenly stood up. Pico dropped the package and spun in place, both of his UZI were out of their holster. He didn't hesitate to shoot. When the bullets _clang_ _clunk_ against the metal wall, the shadow— _is that a horn?—_ moved almost unperceptively. The air shifted and Pico only had a second to thought _'shit! It's magic—',_ before a loud voice—that was deafening yet melodious at the same time— _blared._

**“AAAAaaaaAAAAAAaaaAAA~~”**

**KRAK**

**RATLE RATLE**

_**PRAAANNG** _

Pico winced then tucked, mostly succeeding in evading the shower of crack windows by pure luck—as he was too busy covering his ears—while cursing whoever it was for nearly rupturing his eardrums. That was _loud._ Achingly _loud._ The shadow—a different one, Pico could tell. Not only the Horn demon was standing on top of a stack container, this one had long, bushy hair—then used that split second to rushed forward, unsheathing their sharp claws, mimicking five long daggers. Causing the long-range battle to changed into a short-range within a blink. Did they think this type of struggle was his weakness? Knowing that he used guns as his primary weapon? _Well, jokes on them._ Pico caught those nails with his trusty UZI, smirking ever so slightly when he felt a palpable shock wafting from the attacker. _I don't have Nene as my 'instructor' for_ ** _nothing._**

The fight went on like a flash of the camera. Up, down, left, right. Slash, duck, pierce, defend. The outside casing of his gun was full of scratch now—not like it wasn't battered up already—and the attacker's nails were also in tatter. When the other demon tried to help their companion by readying his 'song attack', Pico smashed the butt of his UZI to each ear without hesitation, rupturing his eardrums in an instant. The world abruptly fell into silent ringing, yet Pico could tell the battle was anything but.

(If he still had his hearing, he'll hear one of the demons nervously laughed _'This kid is fucking_ insane!!’. But he didn’t, so it doesn't rattle him when the nearest attacker falter once again, giving an opportunity for the world traveler to unleash his own counter-attack)

(Really, the consequences of needing to take medicine to heal his ears weren’t on his mind at that time. The only thing Pico care for is to stop that music from affecting him, stunning him; he'll depend on their 'killing intent' to sense their incoming offense instead)

 _26, 27, 28._ Pico shot three rounds of bullets in quick succession, pushing the Bushy demon away and stopping Horn Demon from leaping down into the fray. This action alone had caused him to lose almost half of his bullets, he had to get out of here before he spends all of them. Green orbs wandered, locking his gaze onto the three metal beams hanging on the top, holding a bunch of wooden crates and ropes.

That's the ticket.

* * *

Horn Demon sweat while he watched his fiancée fought a kid with a height that doesn't even reach her stomach. Seriously, he must've been at least seven. Or eight at most. Yet he could fight like a seasoned veteran, an elite assassin, and for once in his life, Horn Demon is _worried._

 _I don't smell any demonic energy from him. Nor magic. He's a human, through and through._ Horn Demon clenched his fist, wanting to help Bushy Demon but the bullets tracked him almost religiously. _Who did this to him? Is it the Organization? I thought we destroyed them already!_

Between his contemplation and inner panicking, he saw the kid's expression changed. It was subtle, and Horn Demon will likely miss it if he didn't keep an eye on him since the beginning. But Kid looked...victorious? He swerved under Bushy Demon's continuous claw attack and dashed. From his trajectory, it seemed he finally had enough and was trying to escape through the main gate. Horn Demon moved to intercepted, pocket knife he hid in his boots were ready to be sailed. Then Kid, without looking back, aimed both of his guns toward them and fired. Bushy Demon jumped back and stop advancing. Horn Demon had to duck under, but not before he threw his secondary weapon towards the child.

A grunt echoed, signaling that he managed to hurt him in some way, but Horn Demon’s attention instead focused on the fact that—

**KLANG**

_Is that—_

**KLANG**

His pupils widened. In his own perception, the world seemed to slow down imperceptibly, making him see the thing that had been causing a ruckus in this warehouse full of the metallic container.

_A bullet?_

_The bullet_ he _fired bounced off of the wall?_

**KLANG**

**KLANG**

**KLANGKLANGKLANGKLANGKLANG—**

**PTAS PTAS PTAS**

_AND IT CUT THE WIRE ON THOSE METAL BEAMS??_

(Did he _fucking_ calculate that???)

**KRIEEETTT**

**BAM BAM**

**KRATAK KRATAK KRATAK**

**.**

**.**

And silence.

Both of the demons could only watch in disbelief when the gate was blocked by row and row of broken crates. The metal beams dangling precariously then followed suit, noisily slammed onto the containers—one, where a whole lot of unused metal beams were resting on the top of it—and it fell forward as well. Within six seconds after that kid was able to escape, they were trapped in a cage they had been prepared beforehand. Like a boomerang. Or a double-edge sword going haywire and they were the only ones who got cut instead of their supposed enemy.

“…well. That happened,” was his fiancée’s short response.

Horn Demon's jaw hung open.

“I’m sorry, darling. I should've not underestimated him,” Bushy Demon murmured, guilt was palpable on her beautiful complexion, “It’s just that…he was so _small,_ it reminded me of the cute neighbor kids and—”

“It’s okay, honey. You were not the only one underestimating him,” Horn Demon interjected, messing up his already messy hair, thanks to the leftover wind from the fallen objects, “Besides…” he continued, gaze shifted slightly. There, beneath all the metal, he saw his pocket knife. When he went to pick it up, he noticed a drop of blood dripping from the tip of it, “We are not going back empty-handed. We just have to be more careful next time.”

 _Yes._ Next time.

(He recalled the kid's spontaneous yet professional enough moves he pulled to fight them off. How he wielded two UZI like it was a part of him)

_(How sharp his instinct was. Almost like he was used to being hunted)_

Horn Demon had a feeling they'll meet again soon enough.

* * *

**III**

Pico may feel a little bit pissed off at yesterday’s fiasco.

So, he _maaayyy_ had threatened the Burger Joint's boss as a way of coping mechanism.

This time was completely justified, however. Because this guy sold him out! Did he think he wouldn't notice? A very convenient 'employee calling it sick'. A very convenient order. And a very convenient aggressor the moment he stepped his foot inside, searching for him. That was three strikes already. The boss even had the gall to look surprised when he came back the next day, looking relatively unharmed except for the little wound on his cheek that he had already bandaged; that pocket knife kind of came out of nowhere.

With UZI's barrel forcefully pushed to the middle of the old man forehead, Pico loomed over—and what a feat to do, for a seven years old child, when his opponent was a thirty or so years old big guy—he sneered, “I’m gonna take _all_ of your money as a compensation for a possibility of endangering an innocent citizen.”

And Pico _is_ an innocent citizen, even though he acted like a burglar right about now. He hadn't done anything bad (minus the coat, wallet, and identity stealing he did on the very first day. Okay, maybe he _is_ kind of bad, as he is still using the stolen identity till this day. But anyway—), he was just a lost kid trying to live in this new life without garnering that much of attention or else someone is going to put him in an orphanage; which, is not a good idea, they will definitely confiscate his weapons. He hasn't done his boss a disservice. So, if he wanted to sell him out for a couple of bucks, then tough luck. Pico won't forgive nor forget.

The boss whimpered, he frantically nodded.

Now that that matter was inherently solved, Pico needed to find a new job. And a new wallet to steal because he could not use this identity anymore. Or two. Or _three._ Or maybe four. No, five wallets sound good as he needed to throw the mysterious attacker off of his trail. The original holder of the first wallet that Pico stole must've triggered them. _How could you report for a missing wallet of your own when we had a document that you've applied for a job three days after you lost it?_ Conclusion, someone else was using it.

Now that he knew he was a target and is basically living as a runaway, he had to do a thorough preparation to prevent yesterday's problem from arising in the foreseeable future. And for that, he needed a lot of money. Searching whether a black market existed in this world or not is also preferable. He needed to restock the bullets, do maintenance.

 _And I also need to buy a hair dye after this._ Pico grumbled, cursing his bright, very noticeable, very eye-catching orange hair.

* * *

Learning how to sign was hard, and he doesn't have that much time to do it in the first place. But he's pretty adept at reading people's lips, so it wasn't that much of a hassle to answer the question for today's possible part-time job.

Besides, the doctor—Doe, a creature that resembled a fox—was nice enough to use her magic to accelerate his healing, reducing weeks of treatment to a mere six to seven days. He just had to endure.

(She also said to contact the police if he cannot run away from the mean people who 'did this' to him. It seemed she made her own judgment and thought that he has abusive parents or something; a child, going to the hospital alone, asking her not to disclose his presence when—not if—someone asked for him, must've raised several red flags. Pico didn't correct her, as it played a part to cover his track, and silently nodded)

He'd learned from the previous incident that stealing a wallet is a big nope. Sure, it was his first time in this world and he didn't know much about how the rules work. But now that he was slapped by the reality of it, he cannot repeat the same mistake twice. Now, he only stole the ITIN card from their wallet, pretending to be a good kid, and returned the goods to their owner. When he was lucky, those people will give him some pocket money too. So, this method is more advantageous and the 'victim' won't suffer that much. It's a win-win for him.

* * *

Becoming a security guard for a local bank turned out to be good for him. Before, the Burger Delivery job had taught him the layout of the city—he chose that profession not for nothing, see?—and now that he's a guard, he could re-sharpened his survival instinct by observing people who walked past by and deduced whether they were customers or those who have malicious intent. In two weeks he's been working here, he helped the elderly how to pay their taxes and apprehended three wannabe robbers. His boss was impressed with Pico's performance, he recommended a raise in rank, from a normal security guard to the head of a security guard.

Pico refused, though. There's no assurance he's going to stay in this world any longer—when some kind of mysterious power will bring him back to his previous universe once more—he tried not to establish a long relationship with others nor he search for a friend to lean on.

(He was used to being alone anyway. It didn't bother him a single bit)

* * *

There's a comic book, sitting innocently on a lone, forgotten bench.

Pico's eyes blinked, head swiveled left and right, searching for the owner of the book. The park was practically empty. Only a couple of kids playing on a sandpit, their parents watching from afar. Judging from the cover—a man covered in red armor, charging some kind of energy bar, threatening the enemies standing around in a circle while protecting a blonde-haired woman who got hurt—it doesn't seem to be a storybook for a kid. At least from what he remembered. It's been a while since he read a book for entertainment purposes and not for intelligence gatherings.

Pico gulped, fingers jerked, and palm clammy. A rational part of him said that this is just a waste of time. That he needed to go out, only to buy some instant food to stock, go back, and hunkered down. He's a bit behind schedule already, hair dye needed to be fixed, money needed to be prepared for the next batch of bullets.

Then a kid part of him—the part he had to forcefully buried as he grew mature a bit too early—screamed to check the comic out. It looked cool. The cover itself shows that this is a story about a hero who protects the world. _Maybe we can learn a thing or two from him,_ child!Pico whispered cheekily. _It may not be a gun, but a laser beam is close enough for it to be a reference, right?_

(That day, child!Pico won the argument)

* * *

Movie theater is an enclosed space with no nearest exist where terrorist hell-bent on world destruction could easily take advantage of.

Pico was tensed. All the way till he found his seat. It was no wonder, as he couldn't bring his trusty UZI inside; they installed a metal detector as a precaution. There was no window for him to climb into as well, so he cannot smuggle the weapon in. Then, why did he come to this place, if it bothered him so much?

It was because of the comic book.

He brought the thing into his hideout—whoever owned it had thrown it away. Other people's trash is someone else's treasure, after all—reading through it from front to back, twice, then thrice. He was infatuated by it, could've said 'obsessed' over it. He tried and succeeded in protecting his precious people _**(unlike him—)**_ and Pico could readily admit that this hero is now his role model. Even if he wasn't real.

Then knowing this comic has a movie adaptation for it, Pico didn’t think twice and immediately bought the Premiere ticket; complete with its limited poster and caramel popcorn.

(That's okay. That money was just for today's and tomorrow's meal. He can starve for a while)

_(He cursed his child self)_

Anyway, he blew through his saving already, he could not _not_ go to the theater and watch it. That doesn't mean he's still okay walking around figuratively 'naked'.

This movie is better be worth it. Or he's going to slam his head to the wall for an hour.

* * *

(All in all, Pico bought another cheap hero figurine and a smoothie to commemorate the day)

(He also spent his 'the day after tomorrow's meal allowance' just for that. Pico wondered since when did he become this extravagant towards his saving. He felt like, since the day he read through that comic book, he became a normal everyday kid instead of a professional dual gunner and a crack shot, specialized in exterminating evil creatures that he is.)

* * *

The moment Pico took a step forward through that rusty metal door, he heard the sounds of cocking guns.

He didn’t react, nor he pulled out his guns like he'll usually do towards those that pose threat to his wellbeing. Because _this_ is a normal reaction for _them._

The weapon dealer.

Pico found them by accident, really. When he was traversing through the edge of the town's forest, searching for wild fruits to stock, he saw movement. There were stickman people, hauling some cargo while speaking through their transceiver. It was clear this is an illegal transaction. And those boxes were illegal goods. As a citizen that follows the law, what they should clearly do was hightailing out of there and contacted the police as soon as possible.

But Pico wasn't that citizen. When he saw the label on the side of the crate—AU.R, AS.R, S.R, S.G—he knew he found a jackpot.

_Those things are guns._

And if they provided guns, then they must've provided the bullets as well.

(So, he still has his uncanny luck then. Or a higher being up there is looking out of him. He's not religious, however, so he was leaning more to the former)

That was how he got into this situation. Standing almost nonchalantly, he waited for the big gun to came out of the shadow. He is a stickman like any other. But with hat fancier and taller; a gold chain and medal with their gang symbol, presumably, glued on it was wrapped around the top hat. The boss's expression looked amicable, friendly even. And Pico immediately knew that this man is the most dangerous one amongst the other.

“Name’s Henry Stickmin,” he bowed a bit, smile still plastered yet it took a slightly maniacal side on it now, “are you Danny, the one who stole our precious transceiver and hurt one of our men?”

Pico shrugged, “You should train them harder then. Or pick better henchmen.”

He heard most of them growled in annoyance.

Henry laughed, “Well, we provided our number in your shipment so you don't have to do that just to contact us anymore,” the leader waved his hand, and one of the circling men break off from their position to pick up a plain box—with a width of a grown man's torso, and a height of a grown man's arm—from inside their inventory. He opened up the goods to show that what inside was real, “10 9 x 19 mm Parabellum cartridges. It is made in its place of origin, German, and gives maximum pressure of 235.00 MPa.”

Pico's eyebrows rose, “I only ordered 5 of them. What's with the added amount?”

“Think of it as my goodwill. We won't increase the payment,” when the child doesn't look convinced, Henry relented and revealed his hand, “I _do_ have a question for you.”

“Let me just say that you, Danny, piqued my curiosity,” Henry walked towards his client, circling him, “A kid, clearly around seven or eight years old, was skillful enough to steal something from us. All, without alarming anyone. You could kill him if you want to, you know? To erase the evidence. You even have the weapon to do exactly that. But you didn't. I wonder why…”

“What’s your point?”

“See, we've searched through the government files and we cannot find you anywhere. No parents, no relatives, no background. The first sighting of you was around seven weeks ago. But even then, you just popped out. With a false name ready to use,” Henry stopped at his left side, voice turned to whisper. Yet with their close proximity, he could hear his next sentence as clear as day, “It almost like...”

_“You came from another world.”_

**KLIK KLAK**

“BOSS!”

“STAND DOWN!” Henry exclaimed, smile was gone for now as he looked over his worried subordinates, completely ignoring Pico's UZI barrel that was now touching his left jaw.

“Just because you guys are stickman and you don't have that much of a body mass to aim for, doesn't mean you're immortal,” Pico hissed, eyes narrowing, “Do you see here, Mr. Henry? Your head looks pretty much like a target board to me.”

“I can see your point,” he calmly answered, not moving nor showing apparent fear.

“You’ve got five minutes,” Pico continued, pressing the barrel even further, “What do you know? Were you the one who brought me here? And if you were, what's your goal?”

“I am not the one responsible for your existence here, let me clear that misunderstanding first,” Henry folded his arms on his back, eyes closed in contemplation, “As of how I know about the existence of another world is because of my magic.”

“Suppose I have two items,” he brought his palms to their attention. There was nothing on it, “On the right is a pistol. And on the left is a phone. There was a bad guy, who was trying to rob a poor kid in front of me. See, my magic allowed me to see the outcome of the story according to the item that I choose at that moment. I can be the 'hero' himself,” he first wiggled the right hand, “Or I can call the police to solve the problem.” then he wiggled the left hand, “Whichever you choose, the other world still exist. With you in it but not exactly the _current_ you.”

“And obviously I’m in the world where you chose the first option instead of the latter or else you won't be the leader of a Mafia clan in the first place.”

Henry just smiled.

“So, you didn't see me in any other world you abandon before?” Pico reiterated, “Not a single one?”

“None whatsoever,” the boss nodded, “That’s what makes you interesting. It appears you live in a universe disconnected from our own. Two of the _same_ people cannot live in one world, it'll cause a disturbance to time and space. Whoever or whatever send you here knew you can start a fresh, new life without that much of consequences.”

.

.

.

_A new life?_

.

(Forgotten memories—one, that he didn't even know existed—suddenly flashed inside his mind)

.

.

_Screech of robotic sounds, along with hurried footsteps—two sets of footsteps—echoed throughout the night_

_._

_The sound of guns blazing was deafening. And an inferno with the heat of sun was crackling_

_._

_A scream. So agonizing, he felt his own heart shatter._

_._

_“We are here,” he heard someone said, “Right in a place where I want you to be.”_

_._

_There was a great, bright flash. Everything has_ changed.

.

_And Pico knew his story will never be the same._

_._

_._

“Kid. Hey, kiddo!” Pico gasped as Henry's voice reached his eardrums. The boss of the underground gang looked worried, thin hand was hovering in the air, hesitant to pat the kid's shoulder, “Are you okay? You looked like you were having a severe flashback.”

Pico blinked once. Twice. He belatedly realized his grip on the gun trigger had wavered, while his whole arm trembled, palm sweaty. He couldn't see it without the help of a mirror but he was pretty sure his face had paled beyond the usual color, sweat trickling down his forehead. The gunner clumsily stored his weapon to its holster, snatched the box full of bullet cartridge from the subordinate's grip, and smacked the payment on the flabbergasted henchman's now empty hand; he yowled a bit at the sudden force, “There’s your money and I got my thing. Let's not see each other again soon because, frankly, the less I used my bullets means the happier my _**temporary**_ life in this new, foreign, definitely-not-my-birthplace world is. _Ta.”_

Then Pico was gone, leaving the dumfounded mafia and one concerned leader.

* * *

(That night, he spent most of his time shooting empty shells in the middle of a dense forest)

* * *

**IV**

A year had passed since he fell unceremoniously here. No companion, no information, different law, and history. He was suspicious of it all at first, ready for that shadow to come alive and eat him. But now, he learned how to relax. And he's been doing a great job so far too, if he says so himself. He's not that poor, that he had to rummage through the trashcan just to fill his stomach. But he’s not that rich either, as he is still an underage kid with a minimum wage part-time job. He preferred to live nomadically, normally in abandoned houses because it calmed his paranoia; his instinct will always annoyingly screech that _this_ place is not safe anymore now that he'd been living there for, like, a week (what kind of logic is that, especially in this peaceful universe, he would never know. That's why he'll just chalk it up to PTSD and trauma).

He did have some trinkets he took care of now, aside from his UZI. It was the hero merchandise. Comic books, posters, cheap figurines. He had more silly things to bring whenever he moved out of the house and, somehow, it pleases him. That means he had a chance to _really_ look around the world, instead of surviving just for the next day. From the book about psychology dr. Doe suggested him to read before, which also means he's improving.

So, it really dampened his mood when his 'past' finally caught up to him.

It happened in the middle of the day, right between all the mingling citizens. He was on the way home, finished with today's grocery. As Pico looked through the bag, checking whether he got all the good or not, he brushed shoulders with someone tall, “It took us a while to locate you…”

_“Mr. Pretender.”_

Pico didn't even have time to turn around—or even widen his eyes—before he felt a sharp pain on his nape and he fell forward.

On the way to unconsciousness, he vaguely heard his attacker pretending to be shocked and said he'll bring him to the doctor.

* * *

Pico realized he took an involuntary nap he didn't consent to. Just like his _first day._

He didn't open his eyes just yet. He felt the situation around and keep his breathing even as to not alert the attacker. He was strapped to the chair, with a heavy chain and a lock (difficult to escape, because it'll cause some noise). There was no wind caressing on his skin (but he felt a warm heat on his back, so there's the window), no mold he could smell (they keep this place clean, then), no furniture he could sense, except for the small metal table standing right in front of him (an interrogation room. Go figure). He did sense his attacker though. Two of them. The other was standing five or six meters away from him and the other…is sitting at the other side of the table. Their finger _tippy tapping_ the surface, determination and a slight awkwardness was palpable, Pico could almost taste it. The nearest demon stopped his musing, put his palm on the table, and said, “I know you're awake. Your breath halted for a split second five minutes ago.”

The kid was impressed. Whether this man _—his voice was deep and melodious. It was also a bit scratchy. He surmised that the interrogator was a male—_ has a sharp hearing that could rival an owl or he was watching Pico's mannerism from the moment he brought him here, maybe a bit of both. But the jig was up. And Pico didn't see the point to keep the charade up, so he let his eyelids fluttered open. Allowing them to see the green, blank orbs hiding behind.

The first creature he saw was a male, as he expected. He has purple skin, black sclera, and red pupils. Maybe around 20 or so. His dark grey hair was styled into a mimicry of a demon's horns and, asides of his obvious pompousness, the man looked immaculate, wearing that crisp black coat over the white t-shirt and all.

The other creature was a female. Same purple skin, same black sclera, and same red pupils. Clearly around the same age as well, wearing the same fresh black suit over the red turtle-neck. Her hair, that reached her hips, was red maroon and in disarray. Yet, rather than giving her a vibe of an untidy person, it somehow exuded an aura of a mature woman.

The room they were in now was completely bare. Only a door across him, a clock above it, and a closed window with drawn curtain at his back; from the shadow cast by the sun, there seem to be iron bars erected in front of it (no escape from there, then). But Pico could see scratched of furniture being dragged away on the floor, along with a couple of peeled paint that resembled a photo frame splotched at random places on the wall. Rather than a dedicated place to interrogate someone, it looked like they repurpose this place just for the sake of questioning him. Maybe they didn't want _anything_ in the room to be used as a weapon against them too. They've learned from their mistake as well.

“What do you want?” was Pico's words toward his kidnappers, now that he was done looking around the place, as he was starting to pick the lock by any means necessary.

* * *

Horn demons internally winced when he heard the kid's voice. _He sounds so young._ Yet from his proficiency in handling the dual guns, it was clear he's a professional. _A professional assassin to boot._ Those eyes. _That gaze._

You cannot have that look without experiencing some darker things.

“Hey, kiddo,” he suddenly said, “How many people have you **killed?”**

“Darling!”

 _Oh, whoops._ That was uncalled for. His mind just went on an auto-pilot and asked the inappropriate questions, definitely causing the kid to tightened his guard. See? He narrowed his eyes. Horn demon shook his head and backpedaled, “Sorry, let me start again. Are you the remaining or the newest member of the Organization?”

The kid's expression didn't move, but from the aura he felt with his magic, the kid was confused. _So, not an Organization, then._ No sign of them rising through the grave (yet). He had to make sure, though. Fingers interlocked with each other, he used it to propped the chin up as he continued, “We’ve searched your blood through the database—local, nearby cities, even foreigner—and we couldn't find anything about you. No background. No parents nor relatives to contact to. You just…popped out of nowhere.”

 _(Huh._ The kid seemed amused now, Horn demon wondered why)

“You had to steal someone else's identity and then used it as your own just so you can apply for a part-time job and get money for daily necessities. I can understand that. Choosing over a little, one-off theft instead of begging for sympathy on the street or rummaging through someone else's trash cans,” he then leaned over, red pupils gleamed under the dim light of a circular lamp hanging above the head, “But even if your reason was pretty mundane, I just can't gloss over the fact of how you _illegally_ own two dangerous UZI. Not to mention, your proficiency in handling them. Who are you? What are you?”

“Are you trying to start a second revolution?”

* * *

_That went from zero to one-hundred fucking fast._

When Horn Demon started listing off things in regard to his nonexistent background, he had a sudden bout of deja-vu. _Almost exactly like Mr. Henry said a year ago._ He was a bit concerned that they got his blood, though (something he usually took a note of, because he wouldn’t know what kind of ability those evil Creatures have. For all he knew, some of them could track a target—or worse, kill the target—by licking their blood alone). Pico recalled their very first fight, where he got hurt at the end of it, albeit just a little scratch. He didn’t think much about it—was thanking his quick feet for evading that out of nowhere attack and brought back just a paper cut after the heat of a sudden battle—but from the information he got minutes ago? That must be how the Horn Demon managed to check his identity over all the multiple databases that existed; by using his DNA.

Now that he thought about it, it is a bit weird. Any new part-time job he applied now (he like to keep himself busy. And he needed more money if he wanted to keep this lifestyle—buying new merchs, new bullets, and new hair dyes to use—afloat) need the applicant to do a quick blood test. Yes, even just applying for a dishwasher guy in a restaurant. Oh, they camouflage it with the other health tests sure, such as vital signs, visual exam, physical exam. Yet Pico always had this feeling that the blood test was a bit too much, no matter how they said they were just trying to see whether the applicants have an illness or a drugie.

All of it, just to catch his tail, huh? Excessive but working nonetheless.

Now that he knew how these demons tracked him, let's move on to the second problem.

A revolution.

 _They_ thought that Pico is trying to start a war.

(Like Cassandra did)

And wasn't that a blow? To his conscience and pride. He was surviving all this time, forced to mature a lot sooner than a normal child should've been. All the hunger and loneliness he felt whenever he was away from his only companions, it happened because of Cassandra and her stupid revolution. And these demons think _he_ is trying to start another one of them??

Pico took a deep breath, released it, and said. Or hissed, more like, “No. The mere thought of being compared to them DISGUST me.”

Horn demon blinked. While Bushy demon coughed.

Pico leaned back, heart thundering after that bout of sudden anger. _That was not good._ He had to keep his mind clear or he'll make a wrong move, “Now that you know I'm not a member of whoever this Organization you thought of,” _or God forbid, a Revolutionist,_ “Will you release me? I need to dye my hair and search for another job.”

“Are you that desperate to get rid of us?” Horn Demon awkwardly chuckled. When the tension didn't dissipate, he sighed, “Kid…we're just trying to help…”

“Funny way to show your affection, old man” Pico deadpanned. This time, he was purposely making a racket by rattling the chain around.

“We know full well that you're just going to escape the moment you wake up,” this time, Horn Demon was the one who patented the deadpan look, “We didn't even mean to hurt you when we first met. The song that I unleashed before was supposed to stun you and my fiancée here will knock you out. We want to talk. We _really_ want to help you.”

Pico answered that heartfelt word with an animalistic sneer.

Horn Demon plowed on, ignoring the kid's obvious distrust, “Just answered me this. Were you forced to learn how to use a weapon?”

 _Were you forced to kill? When you haven't even finished your elementary school, puberty doesn't even hit you yet?_ He could almost hear the silent question tacked at the end of it.

When the youngest person present didn't answer, Horn Demon's gaze immediately turned pitiful. He didn't exactly beg, but his tone of voice did become a bit whiny, “Please kid. I promised I'll release you if you're not a harm to our peaceful society.”

Pico kept silent for another minute. Sharp gaze pierced the interrogator's own in a relentless manner, his lips thinned.

.

.

…should he accept this gracious help?

.

No. This is too suspicious. Why would a stranger offer a hand to someone they didn't know. Someone who owns a dangerous weapon at that. He didn't believe them. He could _not_ believe them. He was betrayed, stabbed on the back, used as a plaything before. He could not let the same thing happen twice. He didn't want his already-tiny-hope-towards-humanity to shrivel up even more. Shatter like fragile china.

(The first time he trusted an adult—right after the war had started and the suspense was high—they were forced to play a Russian Roulette with a bunch of mindless Uberkids)

It took the long hand of the clock to went in a circle twice before he finally opened up his mouth, distrust still evident, “Depends. If you mean someone is forcing me to do this _thing,_ then no. Not really. The _situation_ did.”

It is. Cassandra may push him to the corner, but she wasn't exactly the one who coerced him to pick up a gun and fight back.

Horn Demon let out another sigh—must've been happy he didn't clam up and decided to play along for now; Pico still wasn't sure if he did the right thing either—and straightened.

After that, the questions kept on coming.

“Where did you get those UZI?”

“The previous owner didn't need it anymore, so I took it”

“When you said 'he didn't need it', do you mean he has a new weapon to use or…”

“He _didn't._ Need it.”

“…did you somehow find a black market or something? Because, other than the scratches, it looks well maintained. And we didn't get any alert about an 'underage looking boy' trying to buy a gun from their stores.”

“I didn't find any black market per se, but I found a mafia.”

“...really.”

“I bought my bullets from them. And spare parts too. I don't have enough money to buy new weapons.”

“Will you tell us their group name?”

Heh, “Go search for them yourself, old man. I'm not a tattletale.”

“Alright” _another time, then,_ “At what age did you learn how to use a gun?”

“Six.”

“How old…are you now?”

“Eight.”

“Where did you live?”

“Nowhere. Everywhere. Mostly in an abandoned house or apartment.”

“You really don't have any family to live with?”

“Unless your database somehow lied to you, no. I'm an orphan.”

“Since…?”

“Since I'm six years old.”

“Was it an accident?”

“This is getting too personal.”

“Please?”

Sigh, “No. They were killed.”

“…are you being chased?”

“Yeah. By you.”

“What about your parents' murderer?”

“They won't be here.”

“Did you…kill them?”

“I wish. But no. Not this time.”

“You've killed someone before, then.”

“Sure. Just not in this town.”

“Was it premeditated or self-defense?”

“They tried to kill me first. You guess.”

“…”

“If you think I'm going to go ballistic and start killing someone, then don't be. I'm not the type to shoot first, then ask questions later. Even I'm not that barbaric.”

“Can we really trust you, though?”

“I don't know. That's your call,” Pico stood up, metal chain that was circling around his body, along with the big padlock, noisily fell to the ground. He watched as the demons' jaws fall for a couple of seconds, savoring their shock at how easy he was in undoing the knots before he made a gesture of 'gimme', saying, “I’ve answered your stupid questions. Now, give me back my guns. And groceries as well. That's all I have for this month and I won't appreciate it if you throw it away.”

* * *

Horn Demon could only laugh in amazement as he inspected the padlock he had used to restraint the kid. There were scratches on it, splotch of blood littered the area around the keyhole. The kid literally used his fingernail as a lock pick. And he must've been picking this thing since the beginning of their conversation. Maybe even earlier than that (he did wonder why one of his nails was longer than the other). _This kid really is resourceful._ No wonder he could survive…whatever situation it was that caused him to be like he was today. How he could escape his parents' murderer long enough for someone else to kill them off. This kid is dangerous.

_Yet at the same time, lonely as well._

Other children will not be able to relate. Having no people to talk to, bottling up all the feeling inside that tiny body.

Is there really no way for him to help this pitiful creature?

* * *

Pico leafed through the groceries, checking whether something was missing or not; he had to be sure, as he was caught off guard on a one-sided struggle. Everything seems to be in place (he did think the amount of food had increased though—he pretty sure he didn't buy those apples. Or these loaves of bread. And definitely not that can of soup—but he pretended not to notice. He will check for a possible poison, however), and he is ready to go. When he was in the middle of strapping his trusty UZIs to its usual place, a hand with sharp nails entered his vision. Its movement was slow, deliberate. A good thing to do because Pico had a tendency to lash out at any sudden movement. Especially in places he hasn't visited before.

It was the Bushy Demon. With a small smile adorning her beautiful face, she took hold of Pico's fingers and deftly put bandages on it. Huh. Well, he did injure them when he was picking on the padlock's lock. His nails were in tatter, banged up, and all bloody. These demons seem keen on supporting him so it wasn't weird for the Bushy Demon to help in her own way, no matter how small.

“You know,” Bushy demon started. She patted his palms, his shoulders, and then his head, Pico scowled, “My fiancé is a bit of a mother-hen. Better be careful from today onward, hm?”

_Ooookay?_

What does she mean by 'be careful', though?

* * *

_**This** _ _is what she meant by 'be careful'._

“What are you doing here?” Pico growled, twirling the security baton almost threateningly. The uniform he wore looked too big on him, he even had to roll up the sleeves and pants multiple times. But that doesn't diminish the scare factor as he glared heatedly at the purple-skinned demon who was now standing confidently in front of him, “Is this your way of monitoring me? Am I not trusty enough for you to leave alone?”

“If that's what you want to think, then go ahead,” Horn Demon smirked ever so slightly, his callous palm landed itself onto the security head Pico wear haphazardly. With a light smack, it drowned half of his face. And Pico didn't want to admit that he squawk a little bit at that, “You look cute. Like a child playing pretend. Oh wait, you _are_ a child playing pretend~”

“Fuck off!” he swatted the hand, fixing the hat to a slight degree; it was still a bit too huge for him though, so no matter what he did, it will look askew on his person.

“Language, young man.”

“I can say whatever the _fuck_ I want, old man.”

“You are _so_ not cute.”

“And I never peg you as a joke character whose sole reason is to annoy other people off.”

“Now that's harsh~”

Pico huffed, irritated when the guy didn't move after his obvious animosity. He even went so far and sat at the security guard's open booth, eating the bread he bought from the convenience store. Totally ignoring the silent rule that that place is not for citizens to rest on. He rolled his eyes, hard enough he felt his eyeball could pop off, and continued on his duty. Just because an annoyance had decided to visit his front door, doesn’t mean he had to abandon the duty he'd been entrusting to. So, with his back on the older man and hands clasped on his blunt weapon, he watched.

“Kiddo,” _or not._ Of course, this man won't leave him alone. There was the sound of munching. Before he gulped the content in and spoke, mouth filled with another bite of instant food, “D’you have any other job besides this?”

“You took my blood. Don't you have your answer already?”

“But not all part-time jobs put the blood test exam into action. They think it was a hassle, especially for those small establishments who mainly used a cart or wagon to sell their wares,” that's true. He did try to find _another_ part-time job after his unconsented kidnapping three days before; this time, he was assigned as a helper on a barbeque skewer that mostly open at dawn till midnight. There was no test being held when he applied for it. The owner just took one look at him, and immediately accept. Maybe because there weren’t enough people responding to his 'Help Wanted' sign, he needed the second hand asap, and Pico was there at the right time and in a right place.

The owner looked like he kind of want to eat Pico as well though. Must be a side effect of being a zombie. He just had to twirl his UZI in open space once to let the guy know not to do anything _weird._

Back to the topic, Horn Demon was asking about his other jobs. Definitely want to keep an eye on a kid they deemed as a ticking bomb, “If I tell you what my occupations are, will you come to my workplace and disturb my job?”

“Maaayybbeeee?”

“Then I'm not telling.”

“Spoilsport.”

Pico answered him with an accurate baton throw to a soon-to-be bank robber's head.

* * *

He thought it was just that one occasion only. Even if Horn Demon wanted to observe his movement, he could just do that from afar, stalked him and all. It’ll definitely make the kid assassin tense, his paranoia won’t stop blaring the warning flag. But that would be preferable because then he won’t get distracted by that annoying face of him.

Should've known that was a bit too optimistic.

* * *

Restaurant:

“I’m sorry. But we don't serve an uninvited hobo here. I urge you to please, leave our establishment, sir.”

“Who are you calling a hobo?? I'm wearing my most expensive suit right now!”

* * *

Smoothie stand:

“Here’s your order.”

“Bleh! Did you just put salt on my drink?”

“Oh, my apology. I thought it was sugar. Please wait. Let me exchange it with a new one.”

“HOLD ON! That's not a strawberry jam, that’s a hot sauce!”

* * *

Library:

SMACK

“OUCH!! What was that for?!”

“This is a library, sir. Keep your voice down.”

“But I _am_ quiet! _You_ were the one who came out of nowhere just to hit me across the head!”

“Keep. Your. Voice _. Down.”_

* * *

Convenient store:

“ _ARRGHHH_!!! STOP FOLLOWING ME!!!”

“Danny, I know this is a rush hour and everything is all over the place, but please! Don't scream at our customer's face!”

* * *

“You even work at night, huh,” Horn Demon stated, chewing on the chewy though savory skewer stick he just bought from their cart. The kid was standing behind the grill, looking at anywhere but the purple-skinned creature. A quick smile to the zombie owner, he went back to converse with the small employee, “This is your six jobs already. How many did you apply for? Don't you have hobbies? You know, to unwind yourself?”

“Wanna be my target board, then? Your face looks pretty nice to put several holes on it.”

“Ooohh~ nasty. You _definitely_ need time to relax, kiddo~” Horn Demon chuckled, resting his chin on the free palm as he leaned on the built-in table. The kid then immediately went to the back of the cart, shuffling through the frozen ingredients on the cooler box even though he didn't need to. Funny how he acted like a magnet with the same pole, trying to get away from the old man who irked him through the entire week.

Honestly, he was lucky the kid didn't just shoot him and be done with it. He looked pretty close to it when he visited him at that supermarket, though.

Horn Demon silently observed the child that had been garnering his and his fiancée’s attention at some point. He dyed his hair in dark blue right now, slicked down and not in his usual spiky form. _Petty sure he used a different name for this one as well._ He wore a black hoodie over the red t-shirt—although it was mostly covered by the cream apron, stained with barbeque sauce, that he wore for today's job—while red, heavy-duty boots snuggled the black jeans closer. He looked like a normal kid doing his normal job. If only Horn Demon didn't know about the dual UZI strapped near his bum, never to be separated.

Speaking about his weapons…

“Yo, kiddo,” Horn Demon chirped, “Do you think it's kinda weird that I seem to appear at anywhere you go?”

“No. You put a tracker in my gun,” Kid nonchalantly answered, still sorting through the boxes. As if an adult man, putting a tracker in a child's belonging, was _not_ creepy at all.

Well, of course, he realized.

“You don't…I don't know…try to get rid of it?”

“And waste a completely functional machine just for that? No thanks,” he scoffed, “I checked. You replaced the main section with your custom-made part. Completed with a tiny tracker in it. And I know you knew I'm a poor kid. Bullets are one thing, but I'm not going to buy useless goods when I know full well how functional the previous one still.”

Made sense.

But Horn Demon cannot let this go without a small tease sprinkled within. So, 'teased' he did, as he smiled and purred, “Aw. You just want to see me more often, didn't you?”

He got three leads of smoking bullets for that. Totally worth it.

* * *

(Right. He forgot to ask the kid his real name. _Again_. Better luck next time then)

* * *

“Don't you have a job or something? A hobby, maybe? Something that does _not_ involve in stalking me?”

“I _do_ have a job!” Horn Demon pouted. He picked up a random toy—a robot that will move by itself when you crank the crank—and played with it for a little bit, “Watching you _is_ my job. I'm a police!”

“I haven't done anything bad. Go look for another guy.”

“Says you, who stole a bunch of ITIN cards to apply for a bunch of part-time jobs,” Horn Demon muttered, not too loud that other people would listen but surely low enough for the Kid to hear, judging from the raspberry he just threw at him. _Oh, that was the most childish thing he'd done to me so far,_ “No, I'm not your normal everyday police. I'm a Riot Police. And because not that many Riot ever happening in this peaceful town, I'm following you! I don't think you need me to explain the reason why, hm?”

Kid just continued sweeping off the dust from the tiled floor.

“Buuttt I do have a side gig. I'm a rock star singer!” the older man guffawed. He pulled out a compact disk from behind his suit, proudly shoving the fragile thing to the kid, completely ignoring his mutter of _'what a cheat. With that music magic of yours'_ , “Do you want to hear it? There are some ballads in here too. Perfect for a slow day~”

“…did you seriously come here just to promote your merch?”

Horn Demon whistled innocently.

* * *

“This time it's completely coincidental and I'm _not_ stalking you. THIS TIME!” Horn Demon quickly backpedaled, sweating as he put his hands up in the air.

Kid was standing in front of him, right hand was cradling a caramel popcorn close to his chest while the left hand was sassily rested on his waist. He gave his fiancée a small nod, then one of his eyebrows rose, judgingly staring at the older man who tried to make an excuse for himself, “I know. I don't have my UZIs with me.”

“You…don't?”

“To be exact, I can't,” Kid huffed. His expression was sour, “There’s a metal detector at the entrance. And this is an enclosed space, no window to sneak into. Unless I want to land myself in jail, I have to leave my weapons unattended in my base. I brought a pen with me though, so I'm not completely defenseless.”

“Right…” of course, he brought a pen. And of course, he's the only kid resourceful enough to use _anything_ as his secondary weapon. Why would Horn Demon be surprised?

“What kind of film you want to watch?” Bushy Demon breached onto the main topic, to keep their conversation going.

“That,” Kid answered, index finger pointed to a poster with a man in an iron suit in it.

“Oh, we're watching that one too!” the woman smiled, effortlessly melting Horn Demon's heart even if that quirk of lips wasn't aimed at him. She brought out her wallet, giving a wad of money to the kid, who gave her a questioning look, “Would you be a dear and brought tickets for us as well? Let us watch it together! My treat!”

“Wha—but—”

“It’s okay. We're watching a film as a celebration of our wedding date. It's next week!”

“Oh. Uh…congratulation. But still—”

“Now, off you go~” Bushy Demon pushed his back, steering him to the ticket booth almost smoothly. She waved at him when Kid glanced back, still unsure over the generous offer he just received. There was a slight contemplation. Before he shrugged it off and did the job he'd been bequeathed to. Must've thought it wasn't worth being fussed over. He won't spend his money away too, definitely a plus for a poor kid in need of cash. Bushy Demon didn't turn when her fiancé stood closer, opting to speak her piece of mind while still watching the kid struggling to peer over the table; the receptionist behind tried to hide her fond snicker at that, “He’s stable,” was what her word after a moment of silence.

“I think the job he took grounded him,” Horn Demon also guessed that that was exactly his reason why he worked himself to the bone.

_(It was also a known method of coping mechanism for depression)_

“How many?”

“Seven. I think he's trying to apply to be a club bouncer as well.”

“And they allow him?”

“His strength speaks for himself. And speed. Even if he doesn't get the job, he'll still show those guys he is not someone to be trifle with.”

“You won't think he's underage. But a Creature with experience.”

“Yup.” _that's how he fools everyone._

“…”

“…”

“I’m worried for him.”

“Exactly my thought.”

* * *

In all of the visits he did, checking up on the kid, Horn Demon never saw his face shifted. Annoyed, irritated, rage, ready-to-shoot-him-to-kingdom-come, those were the only expression he encountered so far. Kid never hide his true feeling towards his quote-unquote stalker. And he always had a ton of fun teasing him for that.

But right now? Right now Horn Demon had his jaw fell straight to the floor. Because Kid who looked angry all the time, Kid who can German-suplex a much taller adult if he ever wishes to, Kid who killed numerous people as easily as flipping off his palm (Kid's words, not his)—

Was now smiling.

An honest to God, full-blown _smiling._ Complete with a rosy cheek and arms flapping.

“Did you see it? Did you see what the hero did? With quick thinking, he saved all of those passengers from the crashing plane!” Kid exclaimed, so excited that he didn't see other people's dirty look for inevitably spoiling part of the story out in the open, “And the robots!! Oh, it was so cool how he could control every single one of them! Definitely got my ass on the edge of the seat when I thought his girlfriend was fucking dead!”

“Language.”

“Sure, Lady. And—and did you see how the girlfriend was—”

 _Hey, his reaction was a complete opposite of mine!_

He still remembered rather vividly when this child figuratively told him to eat shit because he can cuss whenever and wherever he wanted. Yet when his fiancée chided him for the same reason, he just…agreed?? To stop swearing???

Granted, he must've been distracted because he was too busy recounting the good part of the movie but still…

So bias.

“Oh, I have half an hour before my shift started,” Kid suddenly said, looking at the clock mounted on the top of the entrance door. Eight-thirty P.M. _Did he get to be a club bouncer, after all?_ Kid chucked the trash he brought from inside the theater to the nearest bin, throwing a quick salute to Bushy Demon and said, “Nice seeing you again, ma'am. But I've gotta go now. Bye.”

“Oh, wait a minute!” she interjected, stopping the kid from his hasty track. Bushy Demon pulled her phone—covered in a red phone case. With a cute black horn and a tail glued to the backside—out of her pants pocket, “What’s your number?”

“…why do you want to know?” whoops, the kid looked alarmed. He was once again on guard. Seemingly remembered that these demons were the ones who kidnapped him before. And one of them stalked him even till this day.

“My fiancée’s pretty obnoxious, right? You can contact me if you want to complain about him.”

_Hey._

“Sold.”

_HEY!_

He pouted and could only watch with stink eyes when the people he cared for (yes. Even the kid. Begrudgingly) exchanged private information between themselves. Bushy Demon then cutely hummed, opening her mouth without a second thought, “Name?”

“Pico.”

Horn Demon gaped for the second time.

“Alright. And my name is—”

“I’m going to call you ‘Boss Lady'. And that bastard 'Poser', when he decided to call me. Because there's no 'if' with him,” Kid—Pico is his real name, apparently—grumbled. He shoved his cheap orange flip phone as he continued on his halted journey, this time waving at the two demons without looking back, “Thanks for the treat, Lady. I'm going to pay you back one day!”

“You don’t have to—” Bushy Demon started to protest but couldn't get her words in as he had disappeared into the horizon, “That kid needed to learn to accept a goodwill already…”

“Honey…how could you??” Horn Demon started to whine, hanging onto her fiancée’s firm shoulders, “I’ve been trying to learn his real name from the very beginning. It's been almost a month! And you did it under one minute!!”

“Shouldn’t tease him too much then, Darling.”

“This is so not _faaaiiirrr!!!!”_

* * *

_Amidst all the joke and hullaballoo between the two purple-skinned demons, one conclusion had reached their collective minds._

_‘He's trying not to build any long-lasting relationship.’_

_Horn Demons recalled how difficult it was to give the kid his song album. He took a look at the cover image and immediately rejected it. At first, he thought Pico must've not wanted to see his face longer than it should've; the older man pissed him off enough already, don't want to remind himself with a face he so badly wanted to punch. But now that this interaction had happened, Horn Demon, along with Bushy Hair, finally realized._

_It was because Pico didn't want to learn his name._

_Didn't want to put an identity to a face or else he'll care._

_Such a sturdy wall._

_Look like it'll take a while for him to open up and pull himself out of whatever ravine he had accidentally fallen into._

* * *

**‘Unknown Number. Friday 05.08 AM**

**Hey, heeeyy. Guess who is this??**

***Screenshot.001 sent***

**YOU REALLY NAMED ME POSER!! THAT'S SO CRUEL!!**

**That’s what you get for messaging me at 5 in the fucking morning'**

* * *

**’Poser. Saturday. 07.00**

**This is going to be random—**

**Then I don't want to hear it**

**—but at every 07.00 sharp, I'm going to send you one of my beautiful songs!**

**That is INDEED so random**

**A daily dose of music will awaken your enthusiasm!**

***MySong.010 sent***

***MySong.019 sent***

***MySong.024 sent***

***MySong.031 sent***

***MySong.033 sent***

**I said I don't want to hear it, old man. And this is more than one song.**

***MySong.040 sent***

***MySong.048 sent***

**I give up.**

***MySong.054 sent***

***MySong—*'**

* * *

**‘Poser. Sunday. 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.001 sent***

* * *

**‘Poser. Sunday 01.20**

**I found a cat that reminded me of you today~**

***TabbyCatYawning.jpeg sent***

**He hissed at me when I tried to touch him and I got claw marks on my handsome face now! I be like—**

***CryingManOnTheCouch.gif sent***

***DarkSkinnedManCrying.gif sent***

**And the cat be like—**

***EvilSimpsonCharacter.gif sent***

***ElmoOnFire.gif sent***

**Why are you sending me these gifs?**

**Huh? Don't you know? Those are memes.**

**…**

**…don't tell me.**

**YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT MEME??!**

**This won't do! I have to teach you the history of memes now!!**

**I knew I just made a mistake.**

* * *

**'Poser. Monday 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.005 sent***

***It'sFreeRealEstate.jpeg sent***

* * *

**'Poser. Monday 11.37**

**I didn't see you at your workplace today**

**My colleague is calling in sick, so they exchange our shift around. Because it was so sudden, I've to ask the other guard to fill me in. My boss' okay with it because there hasn't been any new sighting of a nearby robber.**

**That's what you get for having too many jobs, kid. Why don't you resign from at least one of them?**

**No. I need the money for my gun's maintenance.**

**…did you just speak about undocumented gun possession to a police officer?**

**Yes, I did.**

***ICan’tBelieveThatHappen.jpeg sent***

* * *

**'Poser. Tuesday 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.08 sent***

***OneDoesNotSimply.jpeg sent*'**

* * *

**‘Poser. Tuesday 10.58 AM**

**Oh my God Oh my God Oh my GOD!!!**

**Ask me!!**

**Ask me why I'm so happy!!**

**Come on, kiddo!**

**Ask me!!**

**Eurgh. Okay…**

**Whyyyy are you so happy?**

**Because I just won!!**

***Screenshot.IceCreamLottery sent***

**Aaaaaaaaa I've been eating this thing for a week and I've finally won!!!**

**Imma trade it asap!! I can't believe I finally get free ice cream from this thing!!! AFTER A WEEK OF PATIENT WAITING!!!**

**One minute of my life. Wasted…**

* * *

**'Poser. Wednesday 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.013 sent***

***DogInARoomFullOfFireSayingThisIsFine.jpeg sent*'**

* * *

**'Poser. Wednesday 08.05 PM**

**My fiancee's mad at me because I forgot to buy a bottle of tomato sauce…**

**Serves you right.**

**Cruel!! Try to sympathize here, kiddo!**

**I feel bad that that nice Lady had to marry someone useless like you one day**

* * *

**‘Poser. Thursday 07.00**

***MySong2.016 sent***

***IsThisABird?.jpeg sent*'**

* * *

**'Poser. Thursday 03.22 PM**

**‘Kid. You know a hotdog shop at the end of the block?**

**Yeah. I usually buy my lunch over there. What of it?**

**I've got a report that one of the employee's been doing drugs. But because he didn't get enough money to buy some this week, he becomes volatile. I don't want you to visit that place for a while, 'kay?**

**Huh. No wonder he threatened to kill me if I didn't give him my wallet yesterday night—**

**Wait, hold on! He threatened you???**

**—thanks for the heads up.**

**He's inside the trash can, two buildings away from his shop. Think I've hit him too hard.**

**I don't know if I have to be worried over yours or that man's safety…**

* * *

**‘Poser. Friday 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.23 sent***

***GeniusThink.jpeg sent***

* * *

**'Poser. Friday 11.00 PM**

**Let's play a game!**

**It's night, go to sleep**

**What about word chain? Japanese rule! If you end the sentence with the word 'N', you lose!**

**Old man…**

**Nope. You can’t end the game just like that! To stop you from cheating, I'll start first! Cacti!**

**I'm telling Boss Lady about this**

**Shipping!**

**Go to sleep already!**

**Yoyo**

**Of course, you're not listening**

**Goalpost!**

**Think I should just go to your house and knock you out?**

**Turnip!**

**Pretty sure Boss is awake too. I'm going to buy a boatload of tranquilizer from him now.**

**Wonderful!**

**Let me just say that I'm not kidding**

**Gorilla!**

**Alright, prepare yourself.**

**Falcon!**

**GAH! I lost!**

**…wait. Did you just say you're going to shoot a tranquilizer at me?**

* * *

**‘Poser. Saturday 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.028 sent**

***Stonk.jpeg sent***

* * *

**'Poser. Saturday 08.08 AM**

**Hello, beautiful princess. You awake yet?**

**Who're you calling princess, bastard? And I'm working right now. Don't bother me.**

**Wait, really? But this is Saturday!**

**You've night shift already and you still work even on a weekend?**

**Seriously, you need to rest, kiddo.**

**Go watch a movie like what you did last Thursday.**

**Or did you blow up your saving already?**

**I did saw you bought a figurine of the hero before you leave the theater that night.**

**Hello?**

**Helllooooooo**

**Kiddooooo**

**Didn't I tell you I'm working? And I didn't blow my saving for that figurine, that thing was cheap. I blew it for ten cartridges of UZIs bullets.**

**That's worse. And you just gave me another written evidence of an illegal firearms transaction.**

**Go ahead and restrain me, then. Don't be so picky with a loose criminal.**

**…this conversation turned dark all of a sudden.**

**But it's the truth.**

***YouGotMeThere.jpeg sent*'**

* * *

**‘Poser. Saturday 10.00 PM**

**I won't apprehend you, btw. You know that, right?**

**Yes. And that's why you're stupid. Just because I'm a kid, doesn't mean I'm less dangerous.**

**Please, don't make this so difficult, kiddo.’**

* * *

**‘Poser. Sunday 07.00 AM**

***MySong2.033 sent***

***LadyGettingMadAtACat.jpeg sent*'**

* * *

**‘Poser. Sunday 05.43 PM**

**Wanna grab dinner with us? My treat~**

**No’**

* * *

**'Boss Lady. Sunday 05.58 PM**

**Want to go grab some dinner with us? My treat.**

**Sure’**

* * *

**'Poser. Sunday 06.01 PM**

**You little shit.**

**I know’**

* * *

**‘Boss Lady. Sunday 08.04 PM**

_**https://specialmoment.com/poserandladywedding/?/to=date-and-location** _

_**.** _

**Be sure to come, okay? We made this invitation just for you~’**

* * *

The party was a success. Beautiful decorations decorated the gorgeous building, lovely ballads softly echoed, caressing everyone's entire being. The foods were delightful, and everything was so perfect that Pico felt like he was an alien coming unannounced to crash someone else's cheerful moments.

Pico was standing at the very back of the merry-making, wearing a mahogany suit he borrowed from a colleague he knew from his Library job (she heard him mumbled about 'wedding invitation', 'not having appropriate clothes to wear', and 'too late to ask for a custom-made'. Knowing those, she happily lent him a suit her son wore before at the ceremony of a junior high school. _“Being a Dwarf is a bit of a hassle sometimes, huh? No offense”_ ). He wasn't scared of a crowd, nor he felt threatened when guards littered the place like ants swarming a sugar. Yet somehow, he was anxious. Palms clammy. And fingers jerked nervously, itching to fish the UZIs out of its holster so he could cradle it close.

Of course, he cannot do that. Just because his 'special invitation' allowed him to sneak weapons inside doesn't mean the appearance of a gun won't alert the other visitors. He cannot do that to Boss ( _decided to call the Poser with that nickname after he called his cell phone to whined at him. Complaining about the demeaning name his 'soon-to-be-wife' used to create Pico's exclusive wedding card)._ And he definitely _cannot_ do that to the nice Lady. So, he had to endure. It'll last for another hour or so anyway. Until the Master of Ceremony stopped hyping up the event with his witty jokes and all, and he'll let the guest congratulated the groom and bride, Pico _will_ endure.

Even if the pang he felt in his shriveled heart was painful.

Even if he was envious of the happiness of others. One, he could never taste.

_(When fear and paranoia still enveloped him whole)_

But when the time where he'll go up there to congratulate them himself came, his resolve instantaneously shattered into little pieces as a particular conversation caught by the waves of excitement reached his hearing. 

“We’re going to adopt him!”

That was Boss' voice.

Pico immediately stopped.

He saw him surrounded by most of the male guests, while a couple of women joined in on the hubbub. Boss was standing in the middle of it all, guffawing and grinning so wide, he could feel his own cheek hurt. The man continued on, not noticing an eight years old kid listening in from afar, “He’s prickly and definitely not one who's able to trust strangers on principle. Hell, he tried to knock me out multiple times because I annoyed him too much! I know! Shocking! But when the times come, we'll ask his opinion about it. You see—”

_“He’s already a family to us!”_

Pico ran.

* * *

(“Hello, Mr. Henry,” Pico started as he gazed at a clearly expensive phone on his table. A card was glued on the box. _'Get rid of that old-school flip phone. It's so lame. -Your Handsome Rock Star Friend'_ was written on it, a tiny caricature of his face was also drawn at the bottom of the firm paper. Pico's breath _hitched—_ , “Do you have a job for me?”)

(When Horn Demon broke the door down, expression stuck in utter worry and desperation, Pico was already gone. Leaving the new phone and sear axis of his UZIs behind. The red light, an indicator of a tracker Boss had implanted, dutifully shone the lonely, abandoned apartment)

* * *

**V**

College is boring. The interiors of the classroom are boring. Instructor’s explanations are boring. Even most of his classmates, except for a few, are boring. Honestly, Phil didn’t know why he’s still attending this crappy place. He should've just bailed out of here, escaped from the premises like what he did in elementary school before.

Then again, that caused him and three of his closest friends to be kidnapped by an alien. Where they were put in a simulator and were led to believe that they've undergone their life till, well, college. With wit and skill, and definitely a ton of pure luck, they managed to escape unscathed. Although they did got interrogated by the authority after the end of that tiring fiasco. Then was brought to the hospital for a quick check-up; that latter part was kind of their way to apologize for letting such dangerous creatures run amok, they promised to compensate.

All in all, he just didn't want to experience such troublesome things anymore. He especially didn't want that false simulation to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. That means he's stuck in this boring, dull institute. Listening to the teacher droning on subjects he already mastered. Because, see. He may look tired of the world as a whole, yet he also belongs to the group of those smart students. That wasn't him tooting his own horn, by the way. That was according to one of his best friends, Smiley.

Speaking of Smiley, Phil was in the middle of staring blankly at the semi-clean whiteboard when the said girl herself appeared in front of his vision, wearing her usual exuberant smile, “Morning, Phil. What music are you listening to today?”

Phil begrudgingly pulled down his dark green headphone from the ears and let the girl wear it, while showing her his phone screen to answer her peppy question. In it, was the list of the song he'd been listening to for the rest of the following classes, “Those ballads from that rock-star police guy.”

“The one who questioned us when we escaped from the facility?” Smiley reaffirmed, Phil nodded.

Right. The guy who sang these songs was indeed the cop who was responsible to investigates the four kidnapped children, for some reason. He eavesdropped on the other cops’ whisper that this guy was supposed to be an anti-riot police. He wasn't in charge of asking criminals and victims alike some questions. His appearance was kind of intimidating too; with his purple skin and hair styled to mimic a demon's horns.

What he lacks from authority and jurisdiction, however, he covered it with his friendly personality. Because, instead of chaining them inside an interrogation room like what an officer usually did, he treated them with barbeque and a bucket of ice cream. A successful tactic to make their mouth loose, but hey. Phil didn't mind. Battling adult Creatures who were equipped with hundreds—or even thousands—years of experience, not to mention those Men in Black who won't hesitate to shoot children with a scary shotgun, requires energy. At the end of the day, he was super hungry and Horn Demon's invitation came at an appropriate time.

It's free food anyway. You cannot reject some free foods.

Anyway, yes. He was listening to the songs that guy had made. He wasn't a fan of rock, but the ballads are pretty enjoyable, “This is good,” Smiley said, as she closed her eyes and let the music entered her hearing, appreciating the soft melody and his hoarse voice. Surprisingly, it mixed super well.

Phil rested his cheek on his right palm, waiting for the girl to say something. But she didn't. And he unconsciously furrowed, “Don’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“The distress in his voice,” he continued, “Most of his newest ballads sounded like that. Like he was in a hurry and these songs that he made was just an obligation he needed to finish as soon as possible.”

“Umm…” Smiley pushed the headphone further into her ears. She shook her head, “I didn't hear that sort of thing.”

Phil grunted, “Maybe it was just my imagination.” Because Phred and Zack couldn't hear it either. Even though both of them were his long-time fan.

“I don't think so,” the girl immediately interjected and gave the headphone back, “You’ve got a sharp instinct—one that saved us time and time again from the danger we've encountered when we were still a child—so, if you think this nice cop sounds like he's in trouble, then he _must_ be in trouble.”

Well then.

“You seriously gotta stop with the compliment, dude,” Phil looked away, pink hue dusted his pale cheeks, “You know I'm not good with those.”

Smiley just cheekily smiled.

* * *

“Another dead end?” Jeff whispered, his bulky mass of muscles made the tiny wooden chair he sat on creaked noisily as he looked over a certain corner of the room. Cory himself, a man who Jeff decided to annoy, pulled the red hoodie he wore even lower, tipping down the blue hat under it. Jeff scratched his brown spiky hair, pouting when it was clear his dark-skinned friend won't listen to anything he says.

Meanwhile Chris, a tough-looking woman with pink hair, tied into four sets of pigtails—two on top and two at the bottom—sighed exasperatedly while she watched Boss repeatedly slammed his forehead to the wall, important-looking papers were scattered around his feet like useless trash.

 _This again._ She kneaded the bridge of her nose, slowly picking up the paper off the floor to give their main office a semblance of order. She took a peek at the content inside. The death of humans' and creatures’ children trafficker. A seemingly convenient accident of a corrupted politician. A repeated sex offender who killed ten of his victims fin. finally meet his demise. A serial killer drowned in a ditch. All of them were about a story of the death of criminals. Some of them were those who could be rehabilitated (pity that they kicked the bucket rather early), while most of them were not (good riddance, then). For every news he collected that she'd read, one particular evidence jumped to the front.

All of them were killed by a sniper rifle.

It was clear that this must be the work of an assassin. However, this kind of method wasn't something monumental. Most of the mercenaries did that. They couldn't really have a signature kill or else they'll be easy to track.

And that was the exact reason why Boss is interested whenever this kind of news hit the hay.

This…obsession of his started not long after their wedding. You would think he'll take some days off so he could have some alone time with his wife. But no. It almost like he was possessed by an officer who loved to work. He'd stay at the office until the end of the night, will be back at it when dawn approached. At seven AM, o'clock and not a single minute off, he'll dutifully send a message to someone. Then looked pitiful when nobody answered back. This behavior of his is so head-scratching. And when someone asked the reason _why_ exactly, he'll answer—

_“Knowing his background, I have a bad feeling. But I hope I'm merely projecting…”_

Whatever that meant, she didn't care a single bit. She’s just worried that the Boss is going to fall off from exhaustion at this point.

* * *

The bell on the clock rang, signaling that midnight had finally approached.

Boss let out a deprecating sigh, thumping the side of his temple with a fisted knuckle. Just like what Jeff had said this evening, it was another dead end. He didn't know there are so many 'accidental' deaths in this and the next few towns, he wasn't a First-Division officer who mostly delved in a personal murder and attempted murder, after all. He's anti-rioter. But this particular target he'd been searching for—Pico—

He's a killer, no matter how hard Boss averted his eyes from reality.

At first, he tried to think positively. The kid is a survivalist. Even if he disappeared without reason, he would just hunker down and lay low…right?

Yet he remembered Pico's parents. His disillusionment when others were able to kill the murderer before he ever could. His way of speaking when he admitted he took a life of someone else’s before _. Nonchalant and without remorse._ Then his connection with a mafia group. All of that evidence pointed him to one conclusion.

_Don't tell me…he joins the gang?_

When that idea visited his mind, it won't go away. It kept on growing and growing until he could not keep his feet calm any longer, causing him to asked (read: demanded) his superior to let him see the report regarding some suspicious deaths that had happened since a couple of weeks ago.

It's been a while now and Pico is still nowhere to be found.

_Of course, he found a capable mafia group. Of course, they can hide his track effortlessly and hinder our signal tracker without a sweat. Of course…_

Boss sent a message to Pico, hoping that this is the time where the jammer stop working for a split second—he realized he could still send messages. And Pico read every single one of it. _Or he hoped it was Pico_ —when he saw something at his peripheral. On the bench in front of the receptionist desk, there sat a teenager. Wrapped in a moss-colored hoodie and dirty blue jeans. He was playing on his phone, listening in some tunes with his headphone. Boss was silent for a couple of minutes, jaw slightly ajar. First of all, this is twelve AM in the night—twelve past ten, to be exact. From the outfit alone, this boy is not an officer. Nor he's a part-timer. What, exactly, a civilian doing here? Lingering inside the police office? He doesn't seem to be a criminal who decided to turn himself in because of some self-conscience or something. And second of all—

He actually recognized this teen.

“Phil? Phil Eggtree?” Boss blinked, flabbergasted at the sight of someone from the past. This is the kid that he ‘cross-examined’ in regards to illegal child trafficking and an attempt of world domination by evil Creatures years ago. A case where he volunteered to take care of the youngsters instead because he had an experience in confronting (possible) traumatized children; the other interrogators were busy ‘asking’ the criminals their own questions, after all. A smile blossomed on his previous downtrodden face, as he gave him a hearty slap on the shoulders when Phil stood up to greet him, “You’ve grown so big! I feel like it was just yesterday when you’re just as tall as my waist!”

“Should’ve known you're going to tease me,” Phil grunted, putting his phone inside the jean's pocket, headphone now rested near his neck. He took one look at Boss and said, “You really do seems troubled. What's bugging you?”

Boss' smile instantly stuttered. _Oh yeah. I forgot this kid is sharp._ He sighed for the nth times, plopping his bum on the uncomfortable bench without care, “How did you know?”

“Your songs.”

“My wha—you know what? That's fair,” so, people other than his own director and wife recognize the changes as well, huh, “Don’t you have to go home, though? It's midnight.”

“I’m living in a dorm now, my parents won't know if I break my curfew,” Phil shrugged, “Besides, you’re a cop. And I'm in a police office. This is, most definitely, the safest place I could've chose to visit.”

“…you know what? I don't appreciate this cheekiness. Give me back Phil and his famous lame-ass jokes.”

“Sorry, that Phil is out of town. Please leave a message after the sound. _Beep.”_

The older man chuckled. Weak yet genuine. Phil took a seat at his right side, eyeing the suitcase Boss' been holding since the moment he was out of his private office, “Is _that_ your 'problem'? Want me to lend you a hand?”

“Kid. This is confidential.”

“That doesn't stop me when I was kidnapped years ago.”

_Point._

Boss caressed the surface of the metal case, fingers lingering on the lock presented at the side of it, “It’s…a personal problem,” he slowly started, twitching as he heard Phil mumbled ‘ _knew it',_ “Someone that I know disappeared without a trace. And I have a hunch that he's now in a gang's firm clutch.”

“As their hostage?”

“As their hitman.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Boss took a deep breath, released it, before he made up his mind and opened up the case. In it, was the papers he'd been collecting today—the rest of them were in his house, inside his workplace. When he himself saw the gore displayed on the documents, though, he hesitated once more. But Phil just gets on with it and snatched a paper away from his grip; it was about the repeated sex offender's death. There was a wince, then deliberate blankness. The teenager asked, “What can you tell me about this hitman of yours?”

“He’s…ten years old now,” Phil jolted, shock and horrified. Boss pretended not to see that, “Good at handling guns. Usually uses double UZI but, as you can see, all the mysterious deaths' that I found mostly caused by a sniper rifle. I'd like to think it's because he isn't involved in this underdog job in the first place, but…I just can't shake off this bad feeling of mine…”

Phil hummed, browsing through the documents.

“Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Anything special other than his age?” the teenager elaborated, eyes focusing onto one of the photos that were plastered on, “He knew how to blend in the crowd, but I'm sure there's an instance where he'll slip. Even professionals stumble.”

Boss wasn't too sure about that. Pico is pretty meticulous. It took the duo purple demons exactly one year just to track him down before. What chance that it was for him to make a mistake when he took good effort to hide his presence, even from his old work colleagues—

_Their very first battle flashed to the forefront of his mind._

Oh.

“I...don't know if this is his special moves only belong to him or not. But, when we fight before, he can change the trajectory of his bullets,” Boss uttered, gesturing the said trajectory of the imaginary bullets on the air, “Somehow, it bounced on the wall before it managed to snap the wire of a metal beam on top of us. Trapped us inside the building, he did.”

“Huh. Neat,” hoodie boy mumbled. Another silence descended upon them, only the sounds of leafing paper could be heard. Boss felt his eyes water, a big yawn escaped from his lips. Looked like night had finally caught upon him. And he was sure Lady must be worried sick. So, he started to sluggishly put the papers back inside, palm reaching towards the other that Phil was still holding on to. However, the teenager pulled it away, and instead said, “I found him.”

Boss was suddenly wide awake.

_What?_

“I found him,” _oh, he accidentally said that out loud._ Phil pushed the document in front of his face—it was about the death of a serial killer that mostly target underage children two towns away from their residency. The reason why he did these horrible things was actually pretty mundane. _It was just for fun._ Because, after he killed the kids, he dressed them like a doll (the first time Boss saw this news, he almost throw the paper in disgust)—index finger pointed toward the lamppost at the corner side of the photo of the murderer corpse, “See this bent here? It's half-round in shape and looked pretty new. This lamppost is thick and, unless you hit it with a hammer or a car, you can't exactly put a dent on it. And even then, not in this kind of shape.”

Boss' eyes widened.

“This too,” he continued. Showing a piece of subtle evidence that most people would've overlooked. The marks were mostly on a metal surface; a sign strapped on the telephone pole, the surface of a parked car, a welcoming robot at the side of the road, a hanging signboard near the rooftop of a shop. _Three towns away. Two towns away. Two towns away. Three towns and a block away,_ “Sadly, this is the only document where they captured the environment around rather clearly, so I don't know if he's responsible for the other death or not.”

“It’s…it's fine! You did good!” Boss' exclaimed, weariness instantly gone and his voice went up a single notch. He was so happy, he went to hug Phil, who yelped in shock, “With this, I can narrow down his possible location! Thank you! Thank you! How did you manage to find this evidence so quickly??”

Phil gave him the deadliest, filthiest empty look he could muster, looking so done with the older man's entire existence, “With the power of a healthy sleeping schedule and enough rest. Try it. It'll give your brain enough juice to function and you'll face the day like a _normal_ human being.”

“I’m a Creature, though”

“Go to sleep already, old man.”

(The teenager was right though. The moment Phil mentioned it, he could feel his bones creaked. Spine bent forward. He needed to rest. A proper rest. And now, with a possibility that Pico could be found—that he wasn't out of the country, just out of town—put his heart at ease, even just a little bit. Soul lighter and expression brighter than it was before, he went home)

(Phil was the one who drove the car, however. He was adamant to let the overworked cop be as relaxed as he ever could)

* * *

Pico was laying on a flat rooftop by his stomach, left eye was closed while the right was peering through the scope of the sniper rifle. He already put a silencer on it, so the sound of the gunshot won't alert the sleeping citizens on this fine night. The stars are blinking, and the full moon gave a lighter hue to the world below. He waited in silence, intense focus never wavered.

 _“Your target today is Reginald Copperbottom,”_ Henry had stated the day before yesterday, sliding several papers that were clipped together toward Pico, who patiently sat at the other end of the hardwood table, _“He was the former boss of our mafia group before I took over.”_

 _“He’s a nasty man,”_ the orange-haired kid ruffled the file, staring listlessly at a photo of a top hat wearing stickman and a magnificent mustache under his nose that was glued at the corner of it. That smirk of his is so irksome, _“He won't hesitate to experiment on his own man for the sake of power. In just over two years, his victim had reached one hundred and now, it'll increase even more.”_

 _“Let me guess. He created his own group just for the sake of revenge towards you,”_ Pico wanted to yawn. Villains and their cliché cause, always troublesome and leaving a lot of collateral damages. He stood up from the chair, casually hefting a duralumin case on his shoulder; sniper rifle was contained inside, _“I’ll double-check your information. Expect the good—or bad for all I know—news a couple of days later”_

 _“Oh, Mr. Pico,”_ Henry's soft voice almost reverberated in an enclosed office, _“Are you sure you don't need a rest?”_

_._

_It's been two years since you become our mercenary, after all._

_._

And what a hectic yet slow years it was, being a killer-on-hire for a mafia group. He resigned from all the jobs he used to have just for this, much to the chagrin of the bosses of the establishment; it was hard to find someone as hardworking as Pico, okay? Now he's a ten years old boy. Back in the underworld, away from the gaze of any others innocent, hence he didn't have to dye his hair any longer. Or steal other people’s ITIN card because Henry was nice enough to create an identity for him, something he so badly needed for all this time.

Henry also gave him the lowest of the lowest criminals that ever existed whenever they needed to be stealthy. So, when Pico had to kill them off, he won't feel too bad for it. He appreciated that.

Henry is nice for a mafia boss. Something people usually think was impossible to a degree. Caring for his subordinates, physically and mentally. Allowing them to take a day off, forcing it on them if they seem to be overworking themselves (that’s why they stock tranquilizers every week, huh?). There were even times when he came out of his safe haven to take care of the enemies by his own hand, affectively stopping their terrorizing with a smile and polite laugh. He’s just…so _kind_ that it reminded him of those two. Of those he chose to abandon.

_Of Boss and Lady._

Why did Pico leave them? Without a warning and unannounced? Well, it was because he was afraid of them. Of their willingness to help strangers. Of how easy it was for them to invite an unknown into their little bubble. Watching movies, eating dinner. _Their glorious, momentous happy wedding._ They made him feel nice. They made him feel all warm inside.

They made him not want to go back to his own universe.

And that is a betrayal. Toward his shambled world, the survivors.

**_(To his late friend—)_ **

(What happened to Darnell? Is he okay? Is he safe? The last thing he remembered was running. Gunshots. Then a hellfire. But the rest was a blank. None. A room with no lamp in it, causing the never-ending darkness to cover the whole truth. He is worried. Concern. Apprehensive. Dreadful _horrorscaredfrightenedsadguilty **distress—)**_

**_(“We’re going to adopt him!”)_ **

**BANG**

Pico pulled the trigger, killing off the target he's been eyeing since yesterday noon.

No matter. Even if the memory of those two will never go away, Pico will likely be haunted by the guilt and longing, he was sure Boss and Lady won't glance in his direction any longer. After all—

“Hello, Mr. Henry? The job's done,” he mumbled to the internal earphone, devoid of expressions even as Reginald's subordinates ran around like a headless chicken when their leader, who ascended from the underground strip club, abruptly dropped dead, “I’m going back to the base. Please, don't let Ellie eat my chocolate or there's going to be a war.”

—They're waiting for the arrival of their first ‘blood-related’ newborn.

* * *

**VI**

“There’s a report that a malicious Creatures had been spotted terrorizing the civilian as of late,” Henry announced, half of his face was hiding behind his clasped fingers. The eyes looked serious, a silent rage was boiling inside, “Some of our men has fallen victim to it.”

Ellie solemnly mourned. Pico was silent.

“Bloodhound, who managed to escape, said that the creature looked like a mist. Red in color. Obviously, physical attack won't work on it so go to the armory and find a magic weapon. According to you, Ellie, this Creature is an ex-member of a Revolutionist member a couple of years back? And became the victim of Reginald's human experimentation?” the leader gave the key to the red-haired woman as Ellie herself nodded. The air around them felt like it dampened even more, chilling the entire being of those who cannot resist the murderous aura, “Then I want you to take care of it. Permanently. And if it has companions of some sort that back it up—”

.

_Kill them as painfully as possible as well._

_._

Ellie watched as Pico inspected the UZI he found in the armory. He must’ve chosen those thing for the familiarity's sake. It wasn't his, of course. And, instead of normal bullets, the cartridge was full of red liquid. If she recalled correctly, the manual said that that liquid is the magic bullets. The moment he put a finger on the trigger, it'll register it as its owner (until someone else puts their fingerprint on it later, of course). And the bullets will be limited to the wearer's energy and heartrate. As long as he's able to move—and as long as he's not dead—the bullets will be practically unlimited. _Caution. Use the gun carefully as the weapon will drain the energy faster than it should've if the wearer just shoots the bullet out willy-nilly_. Was also a fair warning the inventor put as a footnote.

He was on a way of putting the second UZI inside the holster, located near his bum as usual, when it looked like he finally sensed Ellie's gaze on his back. She didn't have to see it for herself when Pico rolled his eyes one hundred eighty, seemingly done with it all, “What do you want, Ellie?”

“Uuh…” she stumbled, startled by the sudden animosity. She started juggling a couple of knives in her musing, trying to form a sentence that won't sound too rude, “Are you…sure you're fit for today's mission.”

“Yes,” _okay. He answered_ that _without hesitation._

That just made Ellie even more worried, though, “But yesterday, you're—”

“That _thing_ was a daily occurrence to me. The only difference now is that, you're there to see,” Pico stood up, pocketing two daggers into his boots and a bunch of long needles inside his black jacket's inner pocket. He pulled the hoodie up, concealing the orange hair from view, and stride away. The tails of the clothes flapped majestically, “Come now. The sooner we finish this job, the sooner our boss's rage will be quench. I got a feeling he'll just go to the front and put a danger to his own self.”

 _You said that. But what about you?_ Ellie wanted to ask. Pico had walked away from the armory, ignorant over the older woman's silent pity. Along with a slight understanding. _Just because you're used to it, doesn't mean you have to endure it._

_Especially not by your lonesome._

.

.

**I didn't see you at our wedding. You DID come, right? I'm gonna be so mad if you didn't >< (Read)**

**.**

**So I asked the guards, and he said you DID come to our wedding. Why didn't you congratulate us? Were you shy? You were, weren't you? Did my beautiful wife make your heart skip a bit? Sorry, princess. But you're too young for her~ (Read)**

**.**

**I've noticed you just left my message on READ for days. Are you too busy with your work, you can't send a reply? (Read)**

**.**

**Pico. It's been a week. But I still haven't heard anything from you? Are you okay? (Read)**

**.**

**I saw the tracker. It hasn't moved from the same spot since yesterday. I'm going to go back early from our honeymoon (Read)**

**.**

**Where are you? (Read)**

**.**

**Don't disappear on us, Pico. Not again. (Read)**

**.**

**Please. Please, come back (Read)**

**.**

**.**

Ellie felt her heart crack after she read that particular message.

The day before their inevitable mission, she could not go to sleep. She was done with gathering information in regards to their most recent murderer and she already informed their boss about it just this morning. But the images of her teammates, still and was now a corpse made her want to vomit. So, she decided to walk around the base, listening to the sound of nature outside and the ambiance of the still atmosphere. The red-haired woman was humming a tune as she went past the main hallway when she heard a muted whimper; it was very clear in this quiet night. The thing sounded pitiful, and part of her soul was wailing just by the sound of that. So, she searched for the source. And when her feet brought her to the lone hallway, in which only one room existed (the person himself asked for it and Henry happily provided the said request), she thought she must've made some mistakes. Because this is Pico's bedroom.

Their youngest hitman that acted even more mature than most members of the group.

But then she heard the keening noise once again and Ellie thought 'fuck it' before she quickly picked the lock off.

The child was laying on the bed, curling around the blanket instead of under it. Even near the doorway, she could see sweats rolling down his temple, eyebrows knitted to the center. His grip on his UZI ( _he's holding onto that even when he's asleep? Isn't that dangerous?_ ) tightened to a degree, his skin turned white. That pale lips kept producing that sad noise, leading her to creep to his personal space. She took care not to let her footstep echo—kid has a sharp hearing—then sat near the head of the bed. _He's crying._ The tear was nearly invisible yet it was there.

 _Ah._ Night terror.

(How disturbing it was to see, in someone so young)

Ellie unconsciously let her palm reached forward, caressing his messy orange hair in a comforting manner. It took a while, and her first touch actually made him wince (fortunately, he didn't wake up). But slowly and surely, Pico started to calm down.

What did he dream, she wondered. Was it their dead colleagues or something else?

 _He really is a child._ She mused, still continuing her gentle pat. Now that he didn't have a scowl on his face, nor he bombarded anyone with his deadpan gaze, he seemed peaceful. Without a burden. Without responsibility. And certainly, without blood drenching his hands. He wondered what his actual story was. She knew him from the tale of others, when he stole their member's walkie-talkie to make a transaction with them. And when he contacted Henry too, asking to be his mercenary and all. He came from another world, according to Henry’s magic but that's all she knew. Kid's was secretive, he knew how to covered his track well. She just wondered whether there was someone he confides in in the years he was trapped in this world or not. After all, he came here alone, without his previous friends or companions; if he had any in the first place anyway.

Right after she had that thought, Pico's phone beeped.

That was how she was here, in the middle of the night, reading someone else's private messages. And that was also how she was here, in a car with a tense Pico, heading toward their newest mission. Ellie closed her eyes and took a breath, forcing her mind to stop thinking about other things and focused on something more important. She couldn't miss this chance, to help treating the mental health of their youngest member. Not when Henry gave her an opportunity to be _this_ close with him. And—

.

**We have a dire problem on our end. If you help our cause, I'll let you see him.**

**.**

And not when the seed was already sowed this quickly.

* * *

Pico had a bad feeling about this mission.

He didn't know why. He didn't know how. He just did. Poking through his stomach and making its way up the throat. It was a weird feeling he never encountered before; even when he faced the most potent killing intent in his previous home, it didn't produce this kind of intense churning. He wasn't afraid of the Mist Creatures, was actually as mad as Henry was because it mercilessly killed his compatriots, and he will definitely not be intimidated when they haven't met it face to face in the first place. So, why?

Why would this feeling _fester?_

When the fight eventually happened—it took place in an abandoned airport, at the field devoid of civilization—his question regarding this weird sensation was finally answered.

It was after Ellie received such an amateur attack from the enemy like an idiot (no. Seriously. How could she not see that swing of a hand coming? Just because the Creature is made of mist, doesn't mean it's invisible), then Pico was forced to the defensive to protect the down teammate (he cannot let someone die on his wake, no matter how annoying they were). Mist maniacally cackled, arms moved as fast as a whirlwind, scratching the outer casing of the UZI. It was clear this is its last desperate attack—both Pico's and Ellie's weapons had wounded him much than its magical body could handle. See, it was evaporating ever so slowly—yet the orange-haired kid was on his last legs as well. The gun's instruction wasn't kidding when it said it'll drain his energy faster when he carelessly spat the bullets.

Pico honestly missed his normal UZI.

His strength wavered for that split second before the Creature took advantage of it completely. Pico buckled. And at that moment, when he thought 'this is it', he heard a loud slap.

The time felt like it stopped. His green orbs widened when he saw someone familiar, standing at the back of the mist monster who shaped itself like a grown man. The purple-skinned creature let out a low growl, red pupil shone beneath that black sclera, “Don't you dare—”

_There was a light—_

“Don’t you dare hurt what's **mine**.”

 _Then Mist Man_ screamed.

* * *

Boss planted his feet on the ground, teeth clenching. The thing resembled a shower of light on a music stage. Bright, almost like it changed the night to day by the magic alone. Mist Man was then sucked inside, into a disc the mafia gang had prepared for him _. They really made any kind of weapon, huh?_ **“IT'S YOU! THAT ACCURSED COP! BECAUSE OF YOU, I'M NOW TRAPPED IN THIS FORM! RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME! I DON'T WANNA BE CAGED IN A BOX ANY LONGER! I DON'T WANT TO BE EXPERIMENTED ONCE AGAIN!!”** was what Mist Man had wailed; it was actually on the verge of begging. But nobody cares. Not after it hurt civilians, killed a bunch of people in a name of quenching his thirst for revenge (to the wrong crowd as well. Just because Reginald is the late member's former leader, doesn't mean they were as bad as that bastard. Or so Ellie had told). The form grew smaller and smaller, red light dimmed and dimmed.

Until it was completely gone, leaving only Boss' figure, exhausted after he used half of his magic to activated that unique disc.

Silence then descended.

 _This is awkward._ He bit the lower lip. Nobody was talking, no one is making any noises; except for his uneven breath. He rested both of his palms on the knees, taking care not to damage the cassette, or what they've done tonight will be all for naught.

That was really close, though. He rented the fastest vehicle he could've thought of, all so he could catch Pico before he ended the battle prematurely.

Speaking about the kid…

He was on the way of taking a big gulp of air as he suddenly heard a rustle. When Boss moved his gaze forward, he saw Pico, limping away from the scene while dragging Ellie by the upper body. It was a funny scene and will likely make Boss tease the hell out of the kid, but not now. When there was an important thing to consider and words to utters.

“Wait, kiddo!” he shouted, vaguely heard his voice crack a bit, “W-Where are you going?”

“Away,” the kid said. And _oh lord, it has been so long since that he heard that ‘high-pitched yet still sounds mature' voice, he felt like bawling—,_ “Anywhere. As long as I'm not around you.”

“But why?” Boss asked, pushing himself off the ground to chase after the orange-haired child (so, this is how he originally look, huh?). It didn't take long before he was now standing in front of Pico, soul cracked a bit when the child immediately turned his attention away from the older man, clearly did not want to gaze over his face any longer than necessary. And most definitely, won't give him his deadliest (though he was fond of) blank glare, “Did I do something wrong? Was it because I make fun of you too much? I won't do it again, then!”

Pico didn't speak. And he still won't look at him. He did say this, however, “Move. This woman is heavy and I have to check whether she got a concussion or not as soon as possible.”

“Answer my question first!” Boss interjected, unintentionally raising his voice. The kid flinched a bit at that and Boss chided himself internally. _Okay, take a deep breath, me_ , “Did I say something wrong? I know I tend to not filter my words, but I didn't mean any of it. Or…well…whatever that bugged you so much.” _That caused you to disappeared on us._

This time, the silence was suffocating.

Boss belatedly realized that he had said something _wrong._

“You didn't mean any of it, huh,” Pico muttered. Tone blanker, body taut. The air chilled, that it froze the back of anyone's nape, goosebumps grew on the lower part of their arm, “So, you didn't mean anything when you said you're going to adopt me?”

.

.

Oh.

Did…he hear that?

“Uh…umm. No, that was—”

“See? This is why I don't want to see any of you again. You two gave me a mixed signal,” his fist balled, shiver wracked his entire figure, “Mixed signal I don't appreciate…”

“Pico, no. You misundersta—”

**“STOP IT!”**

The scream echoed. The anger was clearly palpable. The sounds of thunder, a sign of incoming rain, added the finality of that sentence. Boss could only stand shocked still when Pico finally turned his attention towards him. There were tears, pooling at the bottom of his eyelids. The usual flat look was changed to sadness, grief, guilt, _longing, and despair,_ “Stop it. I said stop it! I don't want to be happy. I don't want to feel this warm when I know that, one day, _one day_ I'll be back to my old world and suffer **AGAIN!”**

“All this time, I have to repress my emotion just to survive. I've stolen, I killed, I tortured those Creatures. Every day, I have nightmares. Night terror. Wondering over those 'What if' scenarios where I regret over things that could very well protect my companions better than it should've,” Ellie half-dragged body was now completely sprawled to the cold, hard ground. And Boss' jaw mercilessly dropped to the floor while the kid kept on rambling. Crying. Showing the world the true face of a tired survivalist, “I’m not a kid that needs to be pampered with. I'm not someone to be protected with. And I don't need a permanent safe haven to live in.”

“So, why?” Pico sobbed, his legs buckled for the second time as palms now covered his tear-tracked face. The sounds sounded pitiful and heart-wrenching. And Boss felt like his entire being was torn to pieces, “Why would you two make me feel like a child that I should've been? Why would this world make me feel like what I've been through was not normal at all? Was what I've been experiencing so far _useless?_ Was what we've been experiencing so far _didn't matter?_ If only we knew this kind of universe exists…if only _we_ find it much, _much_ earlier…then maybe. _MAYBE—"_

.

.

(Maybe they didn't have to die for my sake in the first place at all.)

.

The rain showered the world. Accompanying Pico and his grief over the loss of his childhood innocence.

* * *

_._

_._

_“D-Different world?” Darnell's eyebrows furrowed, nervous fingers were caressing his recently made Molotov._

_They were hiding behind a ruined building of a skyscraper, listening to the Uberkids roaming around the street. Pico peeked over the cracked wall, sneering a bit at the robotic movement of the short yet dangerous creatures, “I found a note from Cassandra previous school book. It says that there exists different worlds with different laws. And possibly, different outcomes as well. Maybe they were trying to find a world where Creatures were the only resident on that planet or something. I don’t really care. We just need a couple of energy parts from those guys to powered up the machine.”_

_“There’s a machine already?” Darnell whispered in shock._

_“The notes said that their family actually built it before the school hijack,” Pico load the bullets and aimed. Waiting for some of them to separate from the clutter. Didn't need to alarm the rest, really, “But they didn't have enough energy to turn it on. So, they abandoned it and decided to live in secret as usual. At least, until their kid had a_ good _idea to start a grand revolution.”_

_Darnell showed him a blank look._

_“Pico,” his dark-skinned friend slowly said. Hesitant and reluctant, “Did you come up with this idea because of Nene's death?”_

_The orange-haired child immediately tensed._

_“You know it's not your fault, right? She was just—”_

**_BANG BANG BANG_ **

_The gunshot rang, cutting whatever word Darnell wanted to speak. Three of the Uberkids who strayed away from its pack fell to the ground with a thud, half-human half-robotic heads were wrecked , “There’s our ticket. Come on!”_

_._

_._

_Unfortunately, the plan didn't work out well when one of the robots came back early from its nightly prowl._

_In the end, they had to run away. With a row of Uberkids following after them, and they tried whichever means to escape; ranging from putting leads of smoking bullets to their mechanical body, to throwing a Molotov and creating an inferno of brightly lit fire. In their way of a hasty retreat, they arrived at a warehouse at the edge of that particular town; though, not as sturdy as it used to be, because the wiring, the windows, the door handle, all of the materials that were used to make the warehouse_ 'a warehouse _were destroyed beyond reason._

_“We are here,” he murmured to Darnell, “Right in a place where I want you to be.”_

_Pico pushed his companion inside the blue-painted one, thrusting four tubes of red liquid into his palm as well._

_“Empty this thing to that container,” he said, index finger pointed toward a bigger tube attached to, what looked like, a hexagonal portal made of junks and scrap metals. It was big. The entrance nearly touched the ceiling. Wires protruded from the back of the machine, slithering on the floor like snakes, and was plugged into a socket that, somehow, still actives, “The notebook is on the table. There's their previous coordinates written on it.”_

_“What about you?” Darnell shouted, pouring the thick water inside the said container._

_“I’ll follow you after I'm done with these bastards!” Pico answered, killing five of the Uberkids who tried to rush into their hidey-hole consecutively. He cursed out loud when other types of Creatures came to join, drawn by the sound of a commotion, “Someone needed to turn off the machine anyway. Or else, they'll follow us into the next world!”_

_“Seriously, don't worry about me and just put the code already! I don't have that many magazines to use!” the dual gunner continued, not noticing how pale Darnell look as he read the instruction on the book, black orbs were focusing onto one, particular description._

_(If he did, then the next thing that'll happen will never happen)_

_The situation was dire. Air felt suffocating. The roar of mindless Creatures deafening them ever so briefly. Pico was in the middle of changing the catridge as a light suddenly showered him from behind. It was blue and kind of warm. And before he could smirk, happy that Darnell was successful in activating the machine, the slightly taller kid swiftly went to Pico's side, fingers were gripping his wrist a bit tightly. His next sentence froze him in his track, heart felt like it stopped for a split second._

_“When you turn off that machine, it cannot be used any longer, even if you have another energy sources to spend…” the whisper resounded._

**_“You’re trying to sacrifice yourself, aren't you?”_ **

_Then Darnell pushed him into the wormhole, while he stood in front of the entrance, finger hovering over the off button. Pico’s hand abruptly reached forward, like he was trying to pull Darnell inside with him, but it was useless. Darnell was too far, too distant. He peered over the other boy, showing Pico his last, dry smile and he mouthed, 'It's not your fault, that we chose over your life instead of ours. Because you, friend—’_

_._

‘—had given us hope.’

_And the light swallowed him up. Leaving only a trailing scream of the Creatures swarming up the place as the companion of his next, new journey._

.

.

.

_(“I want to be a bride!” Nene exclaimed in the middle of a mission to restock their food supplies._

_“…where the hell did that come from?”_

_“You know, things I want to do when this is all over! I want to be a bride! Having a magnificent wedding in a sophisticated building, showered with beautiful flowers and gifts. Don't look at me like that! Let a girl dream, okay?”_

_“I honestly do_ not _care”_

_“Cruel!” Nene blew a raspberry at her nonchalant friend. Who, true to the previous description, was acting nonchalant; he just kept on shoving a can of instant food inside a cloth that they've transformed into a makeshift bag. She then wilted and looked towards the ground, low voice saying, “I wonder if anyone is willing to be my groom, though…”_

_“So pessimistic after_ that _out-of-nowhere dream?”_

_“I mean…I'm not exactly pretty, see. Especially now, with all these knife wounds and blisters on my palms,” the black-haired girl gazed down, prodding at the said blisters littering at every surface of the pale skin, “It’s so…rough and disgusting. Nobody wants to hold hand with this kind of hands.”_

_There was silence._

_“Pico?”_

_“I’m sure you'll find him, Nene. I'm sure.”)_

_._

(Because _you_ have a beautiful soul)

(For someone who begged to be killed when the school hijack happened, _you_ kept on living. Clinging with all your might. Just to see that sun rise for another day. Everything, with a smile on _your_ face.)

(For Pico, who was content that he could open his eyes still and food to fill up his stomach, that positivity was like a light in a dark tunnel. Blinding, annoying—)

(Yet at the same time, was the things he desired for so, _so_ long)

.

.

.

_So, how could he not **blame** himself? _

_How could he live on when his best friends—his only friends—leave him one by one, just so he could stay alive for a little while longer?_

_Why did it have to be you, guys? Why? Why? **WHY?!**_

_Why did you keep me safe?_

_When **my carelessness** took Nene's dream away from her?!_

_(Pico didn't know if he could genuinely smile again.)_

_(Not when Survivor Guilt clung onto his broken heart ever so tightly. Like a festered wound that refused to disappear)_

_._

_._

* * *

In an underground bunker located under a normal-looking complex, was where the notorious Mafia Clan was hiding. The moment he stepped inside their hideout, there were whispers circling around. Mutters of 'What's a cop doing here?’, 'Is he going to arrest us?’, 'I mean, if he did, we can just fight him off. He's alone’, 'You're right. We don't have to be afraid of him', and so on was there for him to hear. Boss would be worried over his safety, sitting in the middle of a mafia mob who brought weapons in their person on daily basis, yet that thing was pushed to the back of his mind. As his attention was solely focused on the superior of all the stickmen present.

The Toppat Clan. A clan they've been searching for years. And was now lead by a new leader; apparently named Henry Stickmin.

(He said this before and he'll say this again. _Of course_ , the kid magically found a capable Mafia group to hide behind. _Of course)_

Henry tilted his head toward Ellie, who sat at the right side of Boss' own chair, “I think letting yourself get hurt just so the plan won't go awry was a bit overkill.”

“Sorry,” the only woman scratched her head. A yellow bandage was plastered on her left cheek, “But that was the only thing I could think of to make him stay in place so this officer here could talk some sense into him.”

'Talk some sense' is putting it lightly.

(More like the kid was (finally) having his needed mental breakdown)

Henry then glanced in Boss' direction, polite smile and unmoving expression were a contrast to Boss' scowled one. He leaned over the table, fingers joined, “What question that you have for me, sir?”

“You already know what I want to know.”

Henry chuckled, “Sure. But why don't you relax a little bit? Loosen up your shoulders and enjoy the tea?”

Boss didn't heed his invitation. He just kept on staring.

The leader's dry laugh then petered off. And his polite quirks of lips turned sour, “Pico is an alien, for the lack of a better word,” the stickman dropped the metaphorical bomb, noticing how Boss' eyes twitched a bit in an effort to cover his shock. But there was also an understanding in that red glint. Like he got an answer to a question he'd been asking for from the very beginning of his meeting with the young assassin, “He’s not from this world. He lived in a universe completely disconnected from this one. One, as it revealed by his own sentences tonight, was ravages by the Creatures. Unlike ours, where we could find the middle ground and coexist.”

 _That’s why he said that he killed people before,_ Boss added in his mind. ‘Not in this town' meant 'not in _this world'._

“You know,” Ellie started, giving the cop a judging side-eye, “For a distrustful kid such as him, it wasn't surprising that he decided to escape when _someone_ wanted to adopt him.”

Boss winced.

Henry reprimanded the woman with a flat stare. And Ellie turned sheepish. She didn't look like she'll take what she said back, however. The leader let out a sigh, and continued, “Do you still wish to take him into your family?”

“Yes,” Boss answered without a single beat late.

Even after knowing his background—honestly. _Especially_ after knowing his bleak background—he wanted to take care of him. Enveloped him in an embrace full of familial love. It wasn't just Boss, making a rash decision. He was on a fence about whether to discuss this topic with his former fiancée actually. Then Lady, took one look at his constipated expression and seemed to know what was it that plagued his mind, made that final push.

 _“I think it's pretty neat if our child already has a brother figure to look up to. Wouldn't you think so?”_ was her exact sentences.

So, yes. That one. Just that one thing, he really did mean every single word of it.

“Then I cannot let you take him away from us.”

“At least not on a one side wanting,” Henry immediately clarified when he saw Boss stood up from the chair, ready to throw a hand if need be, “You’ve realized that the kid wasn't ready to be healed, right?” Boss reluctantly nodded, “He’s not ready to accept that this is his new life. Still thinking that he'll be forced back to the previous world. Forced to fight and barely survive. He was overwhelmed when he could easily earn money and food. And, as Ellie crassly said, won't take the news well of a stranger acting like a doting parent all of a sudden.”

“I was already acting like a doting parent though…”

“Long story short,” Henry kept on talking, now Boss was the one who received a flat look from the leader of the gang, “Talk to him first. And until you two resolve your problem, you cannot escape from this facility.”

“Well. You're just threatening me now,” Boss chuckled. Dry and humorless.

Henry was right, though. Albeit his passive-aggressive words and that polite smile of him rubbed him wrong, it was clear that this man care for Pico in his own way; starting by providing bullets and weapon parts for the kid' mental health (something you think a ten years old child would not choose as their figurative doll to cuddle) and giving him unforgivable criminals that will definitely be sentenced to death if they were captured by the authority as his mercenary assignment (but it _is_ still wrong to take things on their own accord). Henry just wanted them to reconciled. And Henry just wanted Pico to made peace with his own mind. That was why, Boss walked. Toward the child's private chamber and was now standing in front of the closed door.

“Pico,” he called, “Are you awake?”

There was no answer. Yet Boss knew he is _indeed_ awake, judging from the aura he exuded; it stopped abruptly, before it resumed. Meaning, he was surprised by the sudden voice on the other side of his bedroom then tried to schooled it back to his usual apathy. It saddened him how an underage boy had to keep his feeling in check before, and it still saddened him now, “I…just want to say,” Boss licked his lips, “I really, _really_ want to take you in as our son.”

He heard Pico's breath hitched.

“But I see that you weren't ready, so I won't force you to give me an answer now,” Boss leaned his forehead on the hardwood, “But at least, let us resume our silly messages? Sharing songs and memes? Just...keep in contact in general?”

Still no answer.

Before he could knock on the door to gain the child's attention, however, it unexpectedly opened from the inside. Pico, wearing the same outfit he wore for his work hours ago—tight-fitting and all back—, was standing with his head hang low. Boss was caught off guard. And he could only murmur, “Uuh…” because of that.

Pico didn't poke fun at him for the stumble (honestly, _current_ Pico won't even respond in his usual annoyed expression even if Boss teases him a bunch and calling him with cute names). He just hoarsely said, “I remembered everything…”

“Huh?”

“I remembered how I got here. Why am I transported to this world and what happened to my previous compatriots,” he carried on. The lips wavered, shoulders shook, “There was an explanation about temporary memory loss that causes by trauma in the book that I've read before. So, this is what it feels like…”

“Pico…”

“Lock me up.”

_What?_

He took a deep breath then looked at him, thrusting both of his fisted hands towards the older man's vision, “Put me in jail. I've killed people in this world now, that means I'm a criminal,” Pico wiggled his hands, giving him a silent order to 'hurry up', “I’ve collected a bunch of evidence regarding my involvement in the assassination at the locker inside my room. Pick it up, give it to your superior. Throw a wanted felon to their supposed place already.”

“Bu—wai—Pico—I—”

“You said you won't force me to give you an answer, right?” Pico suddenly questioned, causing Boss to halt his already stutter sentences. Pico's previously blank look was replaced with uncertainty, distrust, wariness, and…expectation. _Hope,_ “I…I need to think about this. And, no matter how nice Mr. Henry is, I cannot keep a clear mind with this much hubbub. So, please. Imprison me.”

_“Give me time to consider your proposal.”_

* * *

_A cheerful day under a loving family, playing silly games with kids around his age._

_He wondered if he could taste that happiness once again._

* * *

**VII**

Right after the maroon-haired teenager finished her story, Keith loudly bawled.

“Babe?” she approached, blinking owlishly, “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

“How could I NOT?!” he asked back. Tears were running down his cheek as he tried to keep the snot from following, “Your brother sounded so…so sad!! He sounded so confused and lost and I just—I feel so sorry for hiiiiiiim!”

“Technically he's not my brother because he is still not officially adopted but you're right,” the girl giggled, offering her soon-to-be boyfriend her cute handkerchief, “It’s lonely to live a life where you cannot trust anyone else other than yourself. Not to mention, confused by your own mind. Caged by your own insecurity.”

Keith hiccupped, hesitant to use the girl's kerchief and ruined the beautiful flower embroidery on it. But then it recalled the previous story that was told not that long ago and a second round of salty waterfall erupted from beneath his eyelids. _So cute._ And kind. Crying and sympathizing over other people's unfortunate fate, wishing for their bliss even though he didn't know much about that said person. There's a reason why she falls in love with this boy instead of those men who flexed their masculinity. It wasn't just the other way around. Keith steadied his wobbled voice then queried, eyes still red, “You said that your brother is today's foe that I need to 'defeat', right?”

The girl nodded, “It'll be my first time seeing him too!”

It's been nineteen years. Nineteen years of imprisonment. Nineteen years of listening to melancholy tales from her precious parents. Usually, minors receive the minimum possible term of eight years in jail. And a maximum of ten years. And after two or three of the term, he will be able to be released on parole, that is, five years and four months. But because Pico asked for an extended time himself—apparently—and the authority acknowledged his danger towards society—especially when he was equipped with illegal firearms (one, he won't liberate to the law by any means necessary. He allowed them to empty the chamber, fortunately) and intentional manslaughter—they agreed to accept the kid's term. He is allowed to stay in jail as long as he wanted to, provided that it crosses the eight years minimum and he's doing his best to learn how to integrate himself into today's community. Now nineteen years had passed, Pico is ready to be back.

(Maybe, even have the answer to her parents' question years ago. _That_ was something she cannot wait to hear too)

The train behind them stopped, the metallic door whisked open. People of all range poured out from the tiny entrance and were immediately drawn by the big speaker—with a sexy girl wrapped in skimpy red dress sitting on it—placed in the middle of the station. They realized that there must be some kind of an event happening here, that most of the passengers decided to stay for a little bit before they went to their respective places. The girl was waiting anxiously. While the blue-haired boy started warming up his voice, especially after his bout of crying, causing his nose to clogged up and voice to waver. It was exactly one minute of standing around that she finally spotted the color of orange from between the sea of civilians.

There he was. Exactly like she imagined he would look like but older (he wasn't as tall as a twenty-nine years old teenager-on-the-way-to-adulthood should be, though; he’s three to five centimeters taller than Keith. Must be the side effect of malnutrition he got in his early childhood), wearing an outfit that mostly consisted of the color of green, along with beige baggy pants and maroon sneakers. He looked healthy, shoulders firm, and back stood straight. She couldn't sense any over-wariness from him, just a slight awareness that there were too many people here and, if he's not careful, they'll push him around the place like an immobile doll without a string. Pico swiveled his gaze through the crowd before his green orbs (that doesn't look as flat as his father used to tell) latched onto her.

“So, you're that Old Man's daughter,” he spoke the moment he was standing near them. She surreptitiously nodded—nervous and excited at the same time—then Pico turned to the slightly shorter male wearing a red-blue cap, “Then you must be Keith. A kid who's trying to woo the old man's daughter.”

Keith jerkily confirmed.

Pico hummed, “You see, I told the Old Man I don't do kids. Especially innocent kids,” he started, pulling out one of his UZI from the back holster—Keith flinched a little at the sight of a real gun. The older teen smirked and fished another thing from behind as well. This time though, it was a mic, “Fortunately for you, I’m a changed man. And he’s not hiring me as a mercenary but as a 'protective older brother'. I'm not familiar with that role, but I'll try my best. Maybe it'll help me in the near future.”

She sharply inhaled at that.

_Does that mean, he—_

“Let us begin the competition shall we?” he spoke to the only girl, waking her up from her inner thought. The girl hurriedly and happily turned on the speaker. Along with a hologram that shows both their 'score' and 'performance'; it will be grade by the audience present (there was a reason why she used a huge speaker, after all). The opening of the song started and Pico's eyebrows rose. Keith followed along by tapping his feet on the tiled floor, enjoying the funky beat, “One of the old man's old music, huh? He's just trying to promote his album.”

The three chuckled.

“Are you ready, kid?” Pico questioned.

“Only if you're prepared to lose,” Keith challenged, garnering the same smirk he donned when he threatened her possible boyfriend just a minute ago.

* * *

When the songs ended, it was clear that Keith had won.

Pico wasn't a bad singer. It was the opposite, in fact. His deep voice, along with Keith's high-pitched yet melodious one, created an unthinkable symphony. They were perfect for a duet, and people must've thought so as the difference between their scores was actually not that far off. The only negative point Pico got was his inability to express himself more, couldn't dance as fluidly as Keith was. All in all, her partner beat another contender once again and he was celebrating for it as of now.

Pico himself took a deep breath. He doesn't seem crestfallen nor angry. He actually seemed…content. Relieved. And the grip on his UZI relented, that the thing was basically dangling by the tip of his finger. Whatever problem that burdened his shoulders, his psyche, is finally gone.

That’s good. From the story she heard, he never put his guard down (unless he's watching a movie in a theater). It's nice to see him this calm and peaceful.

“Hey,” he murmured, watching Keith twirled in happiness from afar with a twinge of amusement. It was clear who was it that Pico was talking, so she turned her head. His back was on her, and she couldn't see his expression when he asked, “What’s your name?”

.

(In that instance, she recalled one of the tales her parents had told)

.

( _“He tried so,_ so _hard not to form any kind of bond in this world, he didn't even want to know our real name,”_ Mother spoke, caressing her ten years old daughter curly hair while staring straight at the flowerbed of roses located in their vast backyard, _“He called me Lady. And your Father's Boss. He called him Poser before, however. It was kind of funny.”)_

_._

Now. Now Pico was the one who initiated the introduction. Pico was the one who wanted to know her identity. She admitted that she was kind of jealous when he knew Keith's real name before (granted, he must've learned it as a possible target to kill), but this? The time where she has to use an assortment of nicknames she had prepared to welcome the arrival of her unofficial-official older brother had never come. She didn't have to hide her school books from him. Or erased anything that could give him a hint in regards to her real name. Years of preparation were all for naught. And she was okay with that. Glad even, that she almost felt like crying.

“Cherry!” she smiled, so wide that it hurt, “My name's Cherry!!”

.

.

“ _I'm glad to finally meet you,_ Brother _.”_

**Author's Note:**

> **BONUS (1):**
> 
> Pico: *watching Keith song-battled the nice Lady on top of a moving car from the safety of a camera drone* “I failed to stop him”
> 
> Boss: “Yup.”
> 
> Pico: “But nobody died. Nobody got hurt and the world didn't end. The worst thing that could’ve happened is that Keith's now my brother-in-law”
> 
> Boss: “Yup.”
> 
> Pico: “…”
> 
> Boss: “…”
> 
> Pico: “…what's your name, Old Man?”
> 
> Boss: *chuckling* “Nineteen years, cheeky brat. You made me wait for _nineteen_ years”
> 
> .
> 
>  **BONUS (2), Keith volunteered to strengthen the seal of a 'cursed disc' as his way to prove his unending love towards Cherry:**  
>    
> Senpai: “I'll rip your nuts off right after your girlfriend finishes gargling mine!”
> 
> Pico: *cocking gun*
> 
> Boss: “Hold on!! I know you’re mad that he disrespected your sister, but you're going to trap both of them inside if you shoot the console!”
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> -the Burger Joint's boss is from Burger Builder
> 
>  **-** Dr. Doe is from Dr. Doe Chemical Kitchen.
> 
> -the Stickmen mafia is the Toppat Clan from Henry Stickmin.
> 
> -the Zombie owner is from The Zombie Food Truck.
> 
> -List of the other jobs Pico took: Family Restaurant, Fruit Smoothie, The Library, Supermarket Rage, Roommates-Toy Store Adventures, The Bouncer.
> 
> -the Hotdog that was mentioned in a message between Daddy Dearest and Pico is from Hot Dog Bush
> 
> -Phil, Smiley, Phred, Zack are from Riddle School
> 
> -Chris, Jeff, and Cory are from Nightmare Cops. They appeared as a background character in week 5.
> 
> (They're all Newgrounds games btw. if you didn't catch that. Or animation, I don't discriminate XD)
> 
> -the killer who dressed his victims like a doll that was mentioned by Phil is a real murderer from Russian, Anatoly Yuryevich Moskvin, who was arrested last 2011. But instead of killing them himself, he just dug a bunch of dead bodies from the grave before he dressed them up (like that made it any _better_ >< )
> 
> -I named the Girlfriend Cherry because she loves Cherry Dr. Pepper, according to the tweet Ninjamuffin99 had posted (I need a name to use, okay? I just can't call her 'Girlfriend'. Cuz this story is mostly in Pico POV. If he had to call her with a not-name, it should be Sister :'D)
> 
> -I know Keith is not his real name, but I kinda like that one instead of Jack.
> 
> Oh waow. This must be the longest one-shot fic I've ever written. I can easily split it into two, but I just…don't want to??? Hehe.
> 
> Regarding Pico's age. I saw the wiki and, it may say that his age is 20, but his date of birth is unknown (as of the time I'm writing this fic). It's strange, cuz Boyfriend and Girlfriend have a clear year on their wiki page. A.k.a 2001. If they are 19 years old and Pico is supposed to be 20 years old, shouldn't his year of birth be 2000?
> 
> Now that I think about it, his voice _does_ sound a bit too deep…
> 
> Because it's unknown, I'm going to interpret it as 'he falsified his age'. Or 'people just assumed he looked 20, when in reality, he's actually older than that'.
> 
> (Kinda reminded me of my own sis. She's 27, but I swear to God, she still looks like a senior high school's student to me :'D)
> 
> Anyway, let me just say that I’ve never play flash games in my whole life, even when I’m still a kid, I’m pretty sure. I didn't know Henry Stickmin, I didn't know Riddle School, so I definitely didn't know Pico's School. I've known him because of Friday Night Funkin and when I researched through his background—because, apparently, he's basically Newgrounds' mascot??—I found out, huh. _This is an angst gold mine, ready to pick and write >:)_
> 
> So, yeah. Thank you for reading. I'm glad you stick around till the end :D
> 
> Fun fact. I actually want to create an interaction between Pico and baby!Cherry but decided to change it at the very last second. I feel like…this is more appropriate. Even if he killed unforgivable criminals that committed heinous crimes, that doesn't mean he's right. And, as he said before, he needed a place to think. Juvenile facilities often function as rehabilitative institutions for youth. Education is seen by many as the primary rehabilitative service that must be provided to detained them. Pico thought, if he's there, he could finally learn how to be a normal child.
> 
> (Give this kid a break, man. He needs therapy :'D)
> 
> Another fun fact: This fanfic was _too_ long, I have to separate it into two files just so I can upload it to Grammarly TwT
> 
> But you still have to read it as a one-shot, haha >:D


End file.
